


We Are All Made of Stars

by CassDiV



Category: Dead Like Me, Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Chaptered, Crossover, F/M, JYJ, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-30
Updated: 2010-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassDiV/pseuds/CassDiV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Crossover] Reaper George Lass gets an unusual assignment: at a JYJ concert in Taiwan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gate Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ranalore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranalore/gifts).



> Happy Samhain!
> 
> Originally posted in chapters at nuna_fanworks on LJ. Thank you so much, Eliza, for the incredible, lengthy alpha and beta. And thank you everyone at nuna_fanworks who read and followed and commented (especially you, samikitty!). Title taken from the song by Moby of the same name.

George finished washing her hands and face, dried off with a very soft towel, and hung it back up again. She glanced around the huge bathroom--nearly the size of her first apartment--and took a deep breath before opening the door and going back out into the penthouse hotel suite.

Her assignment wasn't in either of the bedrooms she passed on her way down a short hall. Neither was he in the enormous livingroom or in the suite kitchen. She grabbed a couple of beers from the refridgerator and found him sitting out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette. Soon, she thought, he'll give that up. Buzz gone and all.

"So, Kim," she started, offering the boy one of the beers, and taking a seat across from him.

"Jun-Su," he corrected her, taking the bottle. George took a second to realize her post-it had it backwards. "My name is Jun-Su," he said again.

"Jun-su," she said slowly, mimicking him. He frowned at her.

"What's your name, then?"

"George," she replied. "George Lass."

"Lass is your surname."

"Right."

"Kim is mine." He took another drag on the cigarette, looked thoughtful, then exhaled. "Is George a common name for a girl?"

"It's short for Georgia," she answered. "Like the state." Then added, "In the U.S."

"Or the country," he said. "In eastern Europe."

"Or that." She waited for what came next. He surprised her.

"Is that near Virginia?"

"Uh, sort of." It was a strange question. She waited again, but it appeared he had nothing else to ask. Junsu simply opened the beer and sat back in his chair and looked at it. For a long time.

A car honked way down on the street, once, then twice. She opened her own beer and took a few sips. This assignment was getting wierder by the minute.

 _Kim J./October 30/TAIWAN_ , the post-it had read. It had been a RED post-it. She'd never even seen one of those before. Enclosed with the assignment had been a plane ticket, official looking documents about some kind of concert, and a keycard to a hotel room.

And then there was the blank post-it.

She'd caught the flight out of O'Hare, slept on the plane, and arrived in Taiwan several hours before the papers said the concert was supposed to begin. After finding her hotel, she decided to make her way to the venue early, see if she could find this strange reap, Kim. Or maybe a local reaper who could give her some idea as to what was going on.

George hadn't expected the concert location to be empty, but a few hours before an event, she hadn't been prepared for the literal throng of people waiting. It was an event prior to the event. Thousands of people filled the streets, the roadways, the sidewalks, some of them in what looked like costumes, many, many of them wearing the same shade of red as her mysterious post-it.

She headed for the gates to the venue, and encountered a guard keeping very careful watch over the incredible lines already forming.

"Excuse me," she asked him in fluent Mandarin (replacing Rube as the boss had come with perks), "Can you direct me to the line for these seats?"

The guard leaned forward and looked at the paper she held out, then glanced up at her in surprise.

"You're supposed to be inside already," he said, motioning quickly for her to follow him. He spoke something into the radio on his shoulder, announcing her arrival. George found herself led around the building and through a gate, then stopped in surprise at the entrance she was being led into. The guard opened a door for her and bowed, indicating she was to go ahead inside.

"Press," she muttered, "That's just. Great."

There was a table just inside with a woman standing next to it, a stack of folders in her arms. She greeted George warmly, even if she did eye the jeans and blouse George had decided on with some skepticism.

"I'm, uh," George held out her tickets, and dug into her pocket for ID. "Ms. Lass. Chicago Tribune."

It seemed to work. Soon she had a pile of publicity, programs, CD, concert ID badge, backstage pass, and her own usher to show her around and seat her. But instead of taking her straight to a seat, she was led through a maze of halls to a small conference room. "They've already started," her usher whispered, his hand on the doorknob. He cracked the door just slightly, waited for the murmur of a voice to finish, and laughter to follow before allowing her to enter the room.

There were more cameras there than she'd seen at Kyle's concert, or at any press conference she could bring to mind from television. She hadn't thought this was a VIP reap, but then, the universe had never sent her as far as China to take a soul. If that's even what she was supposed to be doing to this Kim person.

Four people sat at a short table in the front of the room, one in a traditional suit. The remaining three...George did a double take on her way to an open seat near the back. It wasn't goth or punk exactly, but between the makeup and the fashion gone awry, she easily concluded these were the members of the band.

"...and bring our style to the mix of east and west," one of the young men was saying in Korean. The room waited for the translator to repeat this in Mandarin before another question was asked again in Mandarin and translated into Korean for the artists.

 _A Korean boyband_ , George thought. _Reggie would love this._

Having barely any idea of the etiquette involved in asking potential multi-nationals such public questions so as not to stick out more than she already did as an obvious westerner in jeans, George took the time to study the three men she'd likely be watching perform for the thousands waiting outside. There was a quiet dignity in everything they said, and it struck her as unusual for stars so young. Or so attired.

The boy in the middle was the most visually striking. He was almost too...perfect, she finally settled on, but even that wasn't it, exactly. The boy to his right was almost hidden behind a mile-long scarf, but his eyes--she recognized the intelligence flitting behind them, refusing to be pinned down unless he willed it. The remaining boy was a combination of movement and stillness, bright grins and unreadable expressions, startling laughter and unusal pauses. To her surprise, it was him that made eye contact with her.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," the suit said at the end of the question and answer session. There were bows and words of gratitude exchanged in multiple languages, and the suit spoke for the three, "JYJ hope you enjoy the showcase!"

George felt it the creep go up her spine before she saw it. A graveling, having entered the room by air duct grate, was scooting along the ceiling toward the door a staff member was propping open for the celebrities to exit through. _Fuck._

She stood and was mentally calculating how to fastest get to that door, when the boy with the scarf unwound a portion as he approached the doorway. To anyone else watching, it looked as if he was simply straightening the accessory. But she saw it--saw him raise a hand and flick two fingers to brush the startled graveling, not even pausing as he retucked the scarf and continued through the door.

She let out the breath she was holding as the graveling crumbled to nothing above the head of the second boy passing through the door. As if he felt the dust, the perfect-looking boy ran fingers through his hair and brushed at his shoulder and arm, disappearing after the first.

But it was the third boy, the one who'd met her eyes during the press conference that stopped before exiting. As if she'd shouted at him, he turned and met her eyes again, his gaze entirely unreadable. He motioned for the man in the suit, and they tilted their heads together whispering, the boy nodding toward her. Her heart skipped a beat as the suit turned to look at her, then made a sharp bow to the boy, who caught the edge of the doorframe as he went through, then pulled his hand away and followed wherever the others had gone.

 _What the fucking hell?_

George had little time to think about any of it further, as the suit was now coming her way. "Ms.--Lass," he said in accented English, "Do you speak Korean?"

"Yes," she told him, wondering for a moment if he would have been able to handle the translation of anything she had to say to the three.

"Very good," he said, relaxing a little. "Mr. Kim Junsu has requested a quick word with your newspaper..." he glanced at her ID badge, "...the Chicago Tribune."

"No, kidding," she told him, unsurprised at least at this. It was then she noticed the stares of those around them. Best to get out of there one way or the other. "Now or after...?"

"Now, if you are amenable."

"Lead away," she quipped, and the man hesitated for a moment before stepping ahead of her and motioning her to follow him through the door. She couldn't help glancing above the doorframe as she went through it, followed by--of all things--a few stray camera flashes.

She was led to a dressingroom. The man in the suit knocked on the door, and waited for the muffled invitation before opening the door. "The reporter you asked to see," he said with a bow. He motioned her in.

George stepped into the dressingroom to find it empty but for the three young men. The boy with the scarf was closest to her, just out of reach on a couch to her left, sans scarf. The perfect one was sitting at a nearby mirror, checking hair and makeup. The boy that had asked to see her was the farthest from her, leaning against a table across the room, arms folded.

"Thank you," the boy across the room said. And the door closed behind her.


	2. Devil's Night

They spent a moment eyeing one another, she and _Mr. Kim Junsu_. She took a step forward, and the boy--now without the scarf--surged up off the couch. She turned to look at him, but his eyes were on the boy across the room.

"He's here to make sure you don't try to touch me," the now-out-of-the-spotlight voice came from across the room.

 _Oookay._ George stepped back again, and Scarf-boy relaxed.

Perfect-boy turned in his chair. "We have work to do tonight," he began, all luster and show gone from his voice as well.

"You have a concert to do, I get that," George said.

"No, not quite, you don't." Scarf-boy's voice was deeper and smokier than she'd anticipated when cameras were off.

"I can't sing without my soul," Mr. Kim Junsu said.

 _Ah. So they'd made her._ She looked at Scarf-boy. "Who are you?"

Perfect-boy laughed. "You just sat through our press conference. Not paying attention?"

"Jay," Scarf-boy chided, then addressed her. "You're welcome to watch the concert. Enjoy yourself. But," he looked at Kim, "You don't touch him until he's ready."

George had never been dictated to by her reap. Of course, she'd never met another human being who could destroy gravelings. "Deal," she told them, "Provided you and I," she looked at Scarf-boy, "Get to chat."

He looked at Kim for a long moment, then said, "You have my word." He stepped behind her, opened the door, and held out his hand. "Your ID," he requested. She handed it to him, and he pulled out a pen and wrote something on it, handed it back. "This gets you anywhere."

George glanced back over her shoulder. Jay had gone back to his mirror, and Kim stood with arms still crossed, watching her. He looked away, and she nodded at Scarf-boy. "See you later," was all she could say before the door closed behind her.

Her usher was waiting nervously when she got back to the conference room. He must have thought she wandered away, because when he saw her, he looked far too relieved. She held out the ID before he could say anything.

"Just a little good will between artist and press," she offered when he looked stunned. She could tell he was re-evaluating her position.

"Very impressive," was all he said, but he bowed and escorted her out of the conference room. There was another waiting room for VIP's, more of a lounge with drinks and hors d'oeuvres. She had some champagne and sushi, and then found her usher and asked to find her seat.

The hall was set up for a few thousand people, far fewer than she'd seen waiting outside. She put her things down, and sat back to wait for the place to fill and the show to begin. It was a little like people watching at Der Waffle House, but in more languages, brighter colors, and anticipation that reminded her of holidays. Whoever these guys were, they had very...avid fans.

At last, the lights went down. A noise like nothing George had ever heard filled the hall. It took her brain a full ten seconds to realize it was a scream, multiplied to levels she'd previously never imagined. The music came up, and the boys appeared. The noise was beyond deafening.

To her surprise, the lyrics were in English. She was very close to the stage, and had a very good view of both the performance and the audience. Somewhere between pop, rap, and trance, she found another level of appreciation for the boy with the scarf. And somewhere near the bridge, he found her eyes and pointed.

 _Your heart is gone, my heart is strong  
Leave me alone, leave me alone_

She turned to where he pointed--just above the stage--and saw to her shock not one, but three gravelings crawling the beams holding the lighting. She'd seen gravelings drunk, mischievous, and angry, but these... _Holy shit._ These gravelings were War-Bound.

Again, she found herself looking for stairs, but before she could figure how to even get near the stage, there was a gust of power that she recognized as surely as she still lived; it tingled up her spine and brought a strange kind of sting to her eyes. It was the same as she'd knew when she first took out Ray's graveling, the same as when she watched Betty jump off the cliff. And it came from her reap.

Kim was dancing in the dark, the other two closely mirroring him, and at the end of the bridge, just before the lasers froze and the beat returned, she saw the three boys touch, and the finger of power shot like a wave, riding Jay's voice. There was an explosion above the stage as the lights came back up, and the three shouted in what she could only describe as a victory cry. They, their dancers, their fans pounded the stage and hall with their feet and the dust from the graveling's death fell softly like glitter, forgotten as the energy rose to even new levels.

She felt like a stone in a raging ocean. George could feel what was happening all around her, but she was stock still, her reaper soul keeping her untouched by the full thrall of the wave of energy. The song ended, and the lights went down, but the power stayed, bouying now the voices and bodies of the crowd. She wrapped her stillness tighter, watching as, song after song, the three boys demonstrated abilities that she had been unprepared to encounter.

Two of them, Scarf-boy and Jay, would occassionally reach down and touch the hand of a member of the audience, sometimes slight, sometimes prolonged. There was light when this happened, just a fine ripple that she could see transfered between hands. At first she wondered if they were taking souls and if she should be preparing for a building collapse. It took her another few seconds to realize they were _giving_ something of themselves to those they reached out to.

At her count, ten gravelings met their deaths. Perhaps one hundred hands were touched. Thousands more were affected in ways she didn't know how to catalog.

It was a short concert, ending long before anyone in the audience seemed ready. And no wonder, she thought, with that display of power. She looked around at the tearful, cheering, chanting faces near her, and did wonder how many of them could consciously sense what had happened there that night.

Eventually, however, the hall began to clear out. Her usher found her once again, and asked where she wanted to go next.

"Mr. Kim's dressingroom," she told him, then added, "If he'll see me."

The usher hesitated for a moment, and she held up the ID again with scarf-boy's writing on it. He bowed and turned to lead her backstage.

There were dancers and crew and staff scattered all about, most in a celebratory mood after their performance. The three were nowhere to be seen. Her usher excused himself and went to quietly inquire for her with a woman holding a clipboard next to a rack of clothing, some of which George recognized from the show. The woman eyed George when the usher indicated her, but she apparently told him what he needed to know, because he thanked her and bowed and returned to George's side.

"They are in their dressingroom," he affirmed for her, moving quickly down the hall and around a corner to a door George had gone through earlier that night. He hesitated only a fraction of a second, but she understood much better now why these three held command and dignity she'd never accorded pop stars. The door opened just a bit and the usher bowed, indicating her. It was Jay who stuck his head out and saw her.

"Thank you," he told the usher, and George gave the man a wave as he backed down the hall. Jay glanced behind him into the dressingroom, then stepped out into the hall, shutting the door. He was in ripped jeans and a tank top, make-up wiped away, but hair still perfectly in place. George thought he looked exactly and nothing like any rock star she'd ever seen. He studied her face for a moment, biting on his lip, then said, "You enjoyed the show?"

George found herself smiling at how normal he seemed now, especially after _that_ performance. "It was incredible," she told him. "Not at all what I was expecting."

A grin blossomed in his eyes, and his mouth smiled back at her. "Good." He turned to open the door again. "Maybe you'll turn out to be not at all what we're expecting as well," and with that he went into the room, and held the door for her to follow.

When she entered the dressingroom, the first thing she saw was the other two locked in an embrace that made her blush and want to cry at the same time. She quickly looked away, and they separated, Kim turning his back to wipe at his face, Scarf-boy turning to face her fully, tears running freely down his cheeks. He too had changed, wearing only a thin t-shirt and black jeans, feet bare.

He came over to her, touched her arm, took her things from her hands and laid them aside. "Not until he's ready," he reminded her softly, taking her hands in his and squeezing. She could feel his soul trembling under her fingers like a pulse.

"My word," she echoed him earlier. He bowed his head and new tears ran down his face as he looked up again.

"I'll find you after," he whispered. "For our chat."

"I'll leave my hotel information," she offered, and he nodded.

"Thank you." He looked behind him one last time, but Kim was still turned away. Jay came over and took him by the shoulder.

"Chun," he whispered. "It's time to go." Scarf-boy--Chun--nodded, and let himself be led out the door.

Kim turned just before it was shut. "Tell them," he started, but that seemed to be all he needed to say.

"They know," Jay told him softly. "We love you, Kim Junsu," he said, and shut the door.

Kim took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then he walked right toward her. It was the most powerful thing George had seen him do all night.

"I'm ready," he told her, and held out his hand.


	3. All Hallow's Eve

"How did you die?"

George looked up from her beer. "Toilet seat." Junsu's eyebrows went up. "Space junk at just the right place and right time."

He stared at her for a moment, then let out a bark of laughter that rang up her spine and tickled her neck. She couldn't help grinning at him.

"That's the worst thing I've ever heard," he snickered, stubbing his cigarette out and leaning back in his chair.

She shrugged. "Apparently, it happens."

There was another quiet pause while he drank his beer. Then he asked, "Do you like it? What you do, I mean."

 _What you'll be doing?_ "Not particularly," she answered honestly, shrugged again. "But worse things happen if I don't do it."

"Like what?"

"Like souls gone bad, rotting in their physical shells. Unspeakable pain at death. Stuff like that."

"And you believe that what you do is to prevent those things from happening."

"Well. Yeah."

"Anything else?"

"Like guiding people toward the light and all that crap?" He frowned at her tone. She took a breath. "No, no. I know that's part of my job. I've seen the lights plenty of times." She frowned herself. "It just doesn't seem particularly relevant that I'm there or not for that part."

He nodded. "It's because you're not."

"I certainly seemed relevant enough tonight." It was a bitter remark, and she regretted it as soon as it left her mouth.

He was quiet for a moment. "What is it you think happened when you touched me tonight?"

George sighed. "I pulled your soul. From your body." Except that wasn't entirely what happened. And this was just the beginning of the wierd that was this reap.

"No," he shook his head. "I gave you leave to take my soul. To witness the separation."

 _Gave you leave?? Who the hell was this guy?_

George had been sure in her grip on his forearm when he'd offered his hand. She'd felt his soul as soon as she touched him, felt it so full and vibrant it made her eyes ache from the inside. But instead of her brushing along his skin, gently releasing it from his body, he held onto her harder, and _stepped back._

Junsu's body had not fallen. It had disappeared. Like a graveling's, but...made of light, not ash.

They had made their way out of the dressingroom, Junsu casually walking the halls unseen. There was no sign of the other two band members. George herself received a few uninterested glances, but nothing held her up from leading Junsu's Soulself from the hall.

"Wait," he had asked her when they reached the courtyard. "I'd like to stay for a while."

She'd had no objections, so she found a seat on a nearby bench and waited. Junsu wandered from group to group of fans, watching, listening. And then he began to sing.

Standing in a central area, arms outstretched, eyes closed, chin to the sky, Junsu had let his soul sound free. The murmurs that normally accompany large groups of people literally died in a moment. Silence spread across the open areas, over the street. In the chill air, George watched face after face turn upwards, turn toward the sky.

She lifted her eyes and saw the clouds had drifted, revealing the stars. At the rise and command of Junsu's voice, they were summoned, stirring with his will and with his soul. Starlight rained and shot across the deep blue of the heavens. Starlight fell on every head, touched what no mere hand could touch, drove away shadows in places no eye could see.

When it was over, and his voice went quiet, it was as if the people took a collective sigh. Tears were dried, joy was reignited, and the sounds and movements of the city slowly returned.

If she hadn't seen it, heard it for herself, George would have had only the vague recollection, as that of a dream. As it was, she was left with fleeting memories of her mother, of Reggie. Of Betty and her crazy, powerful love of life even in death.

Junsu walked over to her and sat down, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Back to your hotel?" he had offered, and she'd shaken her head at him, but gotten up and led the way.

"No soul can be pulled without the will of the owner," Junsu was saying. "Never, ever doubt that."

A clock in the hotel suite somewhere chimed the first stroke of midnight. Junsu put down his beer, and shifted to the edge of his chair. He reached out his hand again and waited for her to put hers into his.

"Remember," he whispered, voice so low, it caused her to lean in close. He squeezed her fingers. "Whatever else, I'm the funny one." And with that, George found herself being kissed.

It was over quickly, but she'd closed her eyes out of pure psychological reaction. When she'd opened them again, it was in time to catch the last glimmers of the same light she'd seen when his soul left his body. And this time, Junsu was gone entirely.


	4. Trick or Treat

In the silence that fell after the final chime of midnight, there was a knock at the door. George stepped inside from the balcony, then turned back, sure for a moment that Junsu would stand up from behind a chair. The balcony remained empty.

She nearly tripped over her own feet on her way to the door. She checked the peephole (which seemed significantly lower than she remembered), threw the deadlock and pulled open the door.

Scarf-boy--Chun--was standing alone in the hall, black leather coat pulled over his t-shirt, flip-flops on bare feet, a bag over one shoulder. It was the sunglasses that reminded George there were likely more of those very avid fans somewhere nearby.

Chun lifted the sunglasses off his face, pushed them up into now loose curls. "Hello," he said softly in English.

"Hi," George answered him, stepping back and motioning for him to come in. "How close are the hoards?"

He ducked his head and smiled, following her into the suite. "Security and the hotel staff are keeping them at bay in the lobby."

"Lucky for you," she quipped, shutting the door, locking it again.

"And you," came the response. George turned to see Chun was staring at her.

"What?" she asked, frowning, touching her lips. "Did he leave something on my face when..." She broke off, brushed passed him, nearly fell over her feet once again. _What the_ fuck _was wrong with her?_

Chun reached out and caught her arm, pulling her aright. He dropped the shoulder bag to the ground, and his other hand came up to settle on her shoulder. "You haven't looked in a mirror."

She stared at him, at the look on his face. He leaned in close enough to kiss, and she realized they were eye to eye. She watched him close his eyes for a moment and take a deep breath through his nose

He smiled. "He was smoking when he kissed you."

She jerked back out of his hold, caught herself against a wall. He let her go. George nearly ran for the bathroom, stumbling only twice before she finally stood before the mirror.

"Oh my fucking god," she breathed.

Staring back at her was Mr. Kim Junsu. She held her hands against her face, only to feel the contours of his cheeks, his eyebrows. She was a good six or seven inches taller, and her hair, which had been pulled back, was now cropped short and stylish.

"Nononono, no, no, no--" she began to babble. She reached for the edge of her shirt and yanked up, over her head, buttons popping off. A broad, masculine chest faced her in the mirror, stretching her bra beyond its limits. "Oh _FUCK_ no."

Chun appeared in the doorway as she fumbled with the bra, unhooked it and dropped it to the floor. She started on the zipper to her pants, habitually began to wiggle out of them, and toppled over, knocking her head against the tile. She swore louder, realized her voice was not quite her own anymore.

Chun was kneeling next to her in a moment. He cradled her head in one hand, and put the other against her--Junsu's--chest. "It's only temporary," he was saying, and at first she thought he meant the pain.

"Fuck you!" she yelled at him in Junsu's voice. It landed like a slap across Chun's face, but he held on.

"We needed a day," he was saying, mouth near her ear. "We needed you, and we needed today. It's only temporary."

George stared at him, tried to make sense of what he'd said while Chun pulled down a towel, bunched it under her head. Her feet and legs were tangled in her pants, but she held still as he began to carefully remove her shoes and socks. He reached for the hem of her pantleg and helped peel her out of them. She kicked them off at last.

He was kneeling at her feet, meeting her eyes. She took several deep breaths, then propped herself up on her elbows, and in so doing caught sight of the bulge in her underwear.

"Oh that is just not right," she growled, and Chun bit his lip, lowered his eyes as she glared and flipped onto her side, caught a finger in her panties and tore them off.

George made it to her feet and stood in front of the mirror again. She watched Junsu touch his face, reach up and rub the spot where she'd bumped her head. It was like watching one of those carnival cutouts where you stick your face through, but she could feel it like it was her own skin. Junsu running a hand over his chest and down, fingering his cock lightly, then touching with more certainly.

"Hmmmmm." The sound came out before she thought about it, and she pulled Junsu's hands away, placed them on the counter. _Goodness fucking gracious._

Chun cleared his throat, stood. "Take a shower," he suggested, turning away and walking toward the door. "It'll help you get used to his body."

"One day." She shot at his back. He didn't turn around. "All Hallow's Eve," he confirmed, and shut the door, leaving her alone with Junsu's flesh and blood.

***

It was Chun smoking out on the balcony this time, when she emerged from the bathroom. The shower...had been an experience she would never divulge to anyone. From only the film of smoke and alcohol Junsu'd left on her breath (and she'd been drinking too) she felt that some things would remain hers alone even if Junsu somehow managed to get his body back.

George had wrapped herself in a very thick hotel bathrobe--aware of how ridiculous it now was to be modest in front of Chun when it wasn't even her body--and padded outside. She didn't trip once.

"Who the fucking hell are you?" She had her control back, and her anger was down to its usual slow burn.

Chun turned and she could see that tone in Junsu's voice was almost too sharp a thing for him to handle. He flicked ash, looking away for a moment, then met her eyes.

"My name is Park Yoochun," he told her.

She thought about what she'd seen him--them--do today. "Bullshit," she tossed back. "Who are you really?"

"That is really my name," he answered. She crossed her arms, waited. He sighed. "Do you believe in angels?"

"You're an angel." It was not a nice acknowledgement.

He shook his head. "Not me." Another drag on the cigarette. She noticed there were now two more butts in the ashtray next to Junsu's. "I'm like you--chosen for something after rough circumstances."

"So you're human." He studied her face for a moment. She raised her eyebrows.

Park Yoochun shifted, rubbed at his neck. "Are you human?"

"Yes." She was sure on this one. Not even death could knock that certainty away. In fact, death had made her even more sure.

He nodded. "Then yes, I'm human."

"And Junsu?" She motioned at herself. "He's an angel?" _What else could sing to stars and have them obey? Slip their bodies on and off like clothing?_

"No," Chun bit his lip again and frowned. "He's not an angel, either."

"Then what the hell, Park Yoochun? What in god's name--" George stopped cold. Maybe it was that she'd finally stopped asking after all the years since she first felt the need to know. Maybe it was the residue of Junsu's soul in his physical form. But at that moment George _knew_ she was right.

"He's a god," she whispered.

"Yes." Park Yoochun's eyes blazed a hole right into her. "He is."


	5. The Darkest Night

"And occasionally, an absolute pain in the ass."

George whirled to see Jay standing on the balcony railing, leaning against the hotel wall. He blew smoke out into the air, pushed off the wall, and--despite the combat boots he was wearing--walked the railing for a few steps with ease before hopping down and grinding out his cigarette next to the others in the ashtray.

He was still wearing just a tank and jeans, but he circled her in the cold air. "Don't you look good."

"Better than you expected?" She was snide.

Jay snorted, and grinned at Yoochun. "I'd say she's got that down perfectly."

"Don't tease her," Yoochun chided Jay once again. "Imagine if he'd done this to you."

Jay laughed and flopped into one of the chairs. Fingered Junsu's bottle of beer. "Oh believe me. I've imagined." His grin was lurid, and George turned back to Yoochun.

"You've got to be kidding me." She flung a hand at Jay. " _He's_ your angel?"

Jay spit out the mouthful of beer he'd taken, spraying her robe. "You told her I was an _angel_?!" He doubled over with laughter.

Yoochun scowled at Jay, then sighed. "I figured that would be the easiest thing to associate with your worldview," he told her. He reached for his bag, resting in one of the other chairs, and handed it to her. "Junsu's clothes," he said awkwardly. "If you need help..." Yoochun trailed off.

"I'll know who not to ask," she directed at Jay, and headed in to a bedroom to see what a rock star/god's wardrobe looked like.

It was surprisingly ordinary. Except for the whole colorless-scheme. She put on black silk boxers, black jeans, black button-down, and black boots to match. It was the pile of jewelry that she had no idea about. George rummaged in the bag and found a brush, sweeping Junsu's hair over to the side, like she'd seen him wearing it. She checked herself in a mirror, decided that was good enough, and took the bag back out to Yoochun.

Jay whistled at her when she stepped back out onto the balcony. She made a face at him, and he grinned again. Yoochun dug back into the bag for the jewelry.

"Hold out your hands," he said, and she splayed her fingers in front of him. Ring by ring, piece by piece, Yoochun put Junsu's jewelry where it belonged. She was impressed at how easily he put the earrings in. Her mother had always told her she pinched when George tried to help her with them.

Jay came over and started messing with her hair. "Seriously?" she asked him, batting at his hands.

He caught and held them, said with utter solemnity, "Seriously."

"Let him win this one," Yoochun suggested. "Always let him win when it comes to hair."

Finally Jay finished up with her, and they both seemed to be satisfied with how she looked as Junsu. The clock in the suite chimed one o'clock.

"We should be going," Yoochun said. "It's going to be a long night still."

"What could possibly happen?" George asked. "I mean, that I should care about." They were watching her with blank faces. She looked between them. "Gravelings take the day off, right?"

She watched Yoochun and Jay exchange very unnerving glances. "No," came Yoochun's quiet reply. "They take the day off when it comes to the living."

"So?" The looks continued.

"So, today is about the dead," Yoochun began. She still wasn't getting it.

"And you happen to be dead, wearing the skin of a god," Jay said blithely. "Wonder who they'll go after?"

 _You gotta be fuckin' kidding me._

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me," she spit out. "I'm goddamn bait?" She remembered the War-Bound gravelings very clearly, and it made her shudder.

"Yep," Jay grinned.

"No," Yoochun frowned. "Not exactly."

"Well, which is it, boys? Am I or am I not graveling bait?"

"They will come for you," Yoochun quickly confirmed. "But they will come for all of us."

"But not because I'm dead," Jay interjected with a smile.

"No, they just hate you on any given day," Yoochun said, and George could hear the fondness in his voice. He got back to the point. "You have the ability we need to protect ourselves and others while Junsu is gone."

"So I'm backup."

Yoochun hesitated, then, "Yeeess."

"For a god."

"Right."

George shrugged. "Alright, then. Let's get on with it." Yoochun looked surprised, but relieved. He picked up the bag and turned toward the door.

She started to go back inside with Yoochun, when Jay spoke. "Guys," he said in a very still voice. "We've got incoming." She turned back around, and saw Jay standing with his arms slightly outstretched, head tilted to the side, listening. The laughter was gone from his face; his eyes were dark, his profile angles and shadow.

George heard it in the moment Jay moved. A horrifying scream wailed through the night air, and suddenly everything was in slow motion. Jay took two steps, leaped from the back of a chair, and instead of falling, turned toward the sky and held in the air. There was a flash of light; there was a sword; and as Yoochun pulled her to the ground, there unfurled wings above them, sheltering the balcony.

Something enormous flew past the hotel building, and now Jay laughed, but the sound was laced with deadliness. George craned her neck to see beyond the wings that were both there and not there, sometime opaque, sometimes transparent.

"You need any help up there?" Yoochun called, wincing as the scream sounded again.

"Oh, I got this," Jay answered, and George could hear hunger in his voice.

"Jaejoong," Yoochun said with a little warning. But he could get nothing else out before there was blinding light, and the scream grew louder, riddled with fury. Jay shouted, and the sword seemed to resonate with his voice. A great blast of wind and light, and Yoochun covered her head, tucked himself around her even tighter, ducking his face into her neck and humming, of all things. George could feel something pass above them--shattering the glass of the balcony walls--and land with a thundering rumble that shook the building all around. There was a moment when all sound ceased, and then as fast as it had happened, it was over.

George opened her eyes to see...nothing. It was like being ripped out of a dream into the stillness of a darkened bedroom. There was no more light than that from inside the suite, no broken glass, no unusual sounds accompanying the city traffic. Yoochun shifted away from her, let her go, and she sat up in time to see Jaejoong flex his shoulders and refurl his wings, his back to her. There were tattoos on his skin that shimmered and rippled, swirled a little across his back before settling. His tank was in tatters.

Jaejoong still held the sword, and he sliced the remains of the ruined cloth off of his body, tossed them onto a chair. He turned, and George could see even more tattoos on his chest. Yoochun held out a new shirt without being asked. Jaejoong took it without a word.

George spotted blood. "Your hand," she pointed. There was a long gash over Jaejoong's knuckles.

He looked to where she pointed and smiled a sheepish grin. "No," he told her. "My cat did that."

She stared at him for a moment, then realized he was being serious. She started to laugh, and it came out in Junsu's voice, the same sound that had been able to draw her smile. The sound of the laughter made her laugh harder, and after a moment, Yoochun began to snicker as well.

Jaejoong slid the sword away into the air between his shoulders, and it drew a thin line of light before disappeaing. He smiled at her, a beautiful, perfect smile, and pulled on the shirt. "I'll see you both at home," he said, stepped up onto the balcony railing, into the air, and was gone.

"Home?" George asked, as she and Yoochun picked up her carry-on, and prepared to leave the hotel suite.

"Anywhere two or more of us are together." He smiled at her before pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes. "Which tonight happens to be a hotel in Taiwan." He led the way out of the hotel room to the elevator.

"Stay close to me," he cautioned as the car began to descend. "Keep moving. Don't touch anyone if you don't have to, and don't let anyone touch you. Security will do the rest."

"You sound more concerned about this than battling forces of evil."

"Trust me," he said with a knowing smile, "In a minute, you'll understand why."

Yoochun had sent a text message just before they left the room so security would know to expect them. Four men in suit jackets loomed outside as the elevator doors opened, and Yoochun gave her a nod. It was like watching someone put on a mask. The easiness that he'd moved with in the hall, spoken with in the elevator was gone, replaced by a virtual shield that he wore well. George tried to follow exactly the way he moved across the lobby, but soon found this to be a task far more difficult than she'd imagined.

There were screams and shouts with every step either of them took. Girls with tears running down their cheeks, the movement of banners, arms reaching for just a touch. And over and above it all, the constant, unreal pop of camera flash.

George found she could control the level and type of noise from the crowd just with one small movement. She bit her lip in concentration, and girls swooned. She frowned and there was cooing. She flipped Junsu's long fringe over her eyes and people screamed. But nothing prepared her for what happened as she leaned close to Yoochun when they reached the car parked just outside the hotel doors.

"You do this everyday?" she whispered, mouth near his ear, hand on his arm as they waited for security to get the car doors open, after passing off her luggage to the driver. The crowd literally exploded, causing George to jump.

Yoochun smiled, and the explosion climbed. "I think you just made news," he whispered back, turning and sliding into the car. George followed him in, and the door shut quickly, muffling the noise.

George looked from the cheering, devoted fans back to Yoochun. "What the hell did I do?" she asked.

Yoochun was typing into his phone. "You spoke to me in public." He hit a button, and put the phone down, looked up at her. "We're rather popular as a couple."

Something about the way Yoochun had been looking at her all night clicked into place. "Oh," she said. Because at that moment she couldn't think of anything else to say to that.

"So are Junsu and Jaejoong," he added.

She was catching on. "And you and Jaejoong?"

He smiled at her, something sad in it. "For some. He's really my best friend."

"He's really a little insane," she told him.

More of that same sad smile. "Aren't we all," he murmured, and they were quiet the rest of the drive to the other hotel.

It was a scene even bigger than the one they'd just been through, but this hotel wasn't allowing anyone but guests into the lobby, so it was an easier trip from the car in to the elevator. Still, it seemed that most of the guests were fans as well, and there were plenty of flash pops to accompany them.

Two of the security guards rode up in the elevator car with them. When they reached their floor, the two men said goodnight, and Yoochun led her to a room far from the elevators. He produced a keycard, swiped it, and handed it to her, motioning for her to go inside.

George gave him a panicked look. "Aren't you--?"

Yoochun smiled. "Don't worry," he said, and walked to the next door down. "We have ajoining rooms."

The door was already open between the two rooms. George shut the door to the hall and left her carry-on beside it. Yoochun was closing the curtains in his room, so she crossed the room to do the same. Junsu's luggage was open, but things were scattered around in fairly tidy piles. There was a laptop and headphones next to the phone, several pairs of shoes under the desk, various and sundry toiletries and makeup. The huge bed had already been slept in, and a discarded towel was slung over one chair. She pulled the curtains shut, and sat down to take off Junsu's boots.

Yoochun appeared in the doorway. "Do you eat?" he asked, thumbing through a couple of menus.

"I eat," she confirmed, rubbing her feet. "And tonight, I damn well better drink too."

"Mini-bar," Yoochun pointed.

"Wonderful." George went over and opened the refridgerator, saw that nothing was missing. "What's Junsu's usual poison?" she asked.

"Jack," Yoochun answered, typing into his phone again. "But he never orders it in public."

She pulled out three tiny bottles and shut the fridge. "Let me guess. It's an image thing."

Yoochun grinned up at her. "Nah. He's just cheap. If he doesn't drink in public, he doesn't end up paying for anyone else's round."

George snorted, and opened one of the bottles, "Remind me to run up a damn big bill just before he comes back tomorrow."

Yoochun was quiet while she took a gulp.

"Park Yoochun," she said into that quiet, taking a seat on the bed.

"Yoochun," he told her. "Or Micky."

George nodded, expecting the first. "Micky," she tried out, and took another drink.

He lowered his head, and came to sit down across from her, putting the menus down with his phone.

"I know who you are, George," he started. "It took us time to find you."

She tilted her head, forced him to met her eyes. "Where's Junsu gone, Yoochun?"

He couldn't hold her gaze. His eyes closed, and she swore he was listening. Finally he whispered, "He's gone into the pit. To the place between death and eternal suffering."

 _MY. GOD._

"But, why?" she asked, reaching a hand to his. Yoochun flinched, and she went for his face, cupping his jaw. He looked up at her wide-eyed.

"Please, don't," he whispered.

"No," she refused, keeping her hand where it was. "Your lover, a _god_ , has gone into hell." Yoochun was trembling under her touch. "On the day every other lost soul is clawing their way out."

He grabbed her fingers, held tightly. "We lost one of us," he breathed. "Our youngest." He squeezed her hand, pressed it against his mouth. "He was taken from us, and Junsu's gone to get him back."


	6. The Devil You Know

That night, George dreamed.

Jaejoong had come with food shortly after George finished her drinks. He also came with larger bottles of alcohol. Yoochun had said very little else, and she didn't press further. There was an easiness born of intimacy and secrets between Jaejoong and Yoochun, and George found that easiness stretching to include her that night. She ate what they put in her hands, drank what they offered, and none of them spoke of anything more significant than was needed for the meal. It was the best Chinese food she'd ever eaten, and while the liquor did little toward getting her drunk, the combination was enough to make her sleepy.

She yawned, and Jaejoong and Yoochun exchanged a look. Jaejoong took the carton from her, and Yoochun began to clear up.

"Sleep," Jaejoong told her, fingers brushing at Junsu's fringe, then dropping to play at her collar. She brushed his hand away, and he smiled.

Yoochun nodded. "A few hours. We'll wake you if there's a...need."

George thought about arguing, but the enormous bed was definitely calling. She stretched and stood up to take off the jeans, shook her head at Jaejoong, who grinned and leered a little.

 _Fine_ , she thought. _You want a show, Angel-boy?_ George turned around and stripped off the jeans, well aware now of just how well-endowed Junsu was in the rear. When she turned back around and sat on the bed, she started on the buttons of the shirt, slowly undoing one at a time.

Jaejoong had stopped grinning and was more just staring. "Yeah," he said softly, echoing his earlier words, "I'd say she's got that down perfectly."

Yoochun stopped what he was doing and turned around to see her peel out of the shirt. He froze for a moment, then glanced at Jaejoong, pursed his lips and busied himself again.

George's heart hurt for him. She stood, holding her hand up to stop anything Jaejoong was going to say, and walked to where Yoochun was stacking bottles.

"Micky," she said, quiet and low in Junsu's voice. Yoochun was breathing quickly, but he stopped moving. She reached out and touched the back of his neck, fingers plying until he succumbed, turning to face her. Before he could refuse her, George kissed him, letting Junsu's physical memory loose to find the well-worn path she knew was there.

Yoochun let himself be pulled into the kiss, followed when it deepened, but when George willed him closer, pressed Junsu's body against him, Yoochun cried out in his throat, and jerked away.

"I need to know," she told him, fingers digging in to hold him near, "I need to know if you can tell the difference."

"Yes," he gasped, eyes dark and full of frustration. "I know it's not him--"

"No," she said gently, but urgently enough to keep his attention, "Not what you know." George stroked his neck. "I need to be sure that you will be able to tell, when you don't know anymore, that it's Junsu."

Yoochun stared at her, emotions shifting across his face. "Yes," he said finally, "Yes. I will be able to tell."

George nodded, stepped back, and caught his hand. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Don't be." Yoochun squeezed her hand, but let go. He gathered up discarded containers, and went into the adjoining room. George gave him the space, and went back to lie down on Junsu's bed.

"No bedtime kiss for me?" Jaejoong asked with an appreciative smile. He was still teasing her, but George could tell he approved of what she'd just done.

"Good-night, Jaejoong," she answered, turning off a nearby lamp and rolling away from him.

George didn't even hear him leave. She closed her eyes, snuggled down into the pillow, and lost consciousness.

The wind is blowing her hair in her face, and she brushes the bit away from her eyes, pushes her sunglasses further up on her nose. She is standing in the doorway of a building, its echoing hall to her back, before her the rolling green of hillside and forest, elaborate landscaping and winding paths. In the distance she sees a city. It is late spring; the wind is warm, and the air is full of smells.

She steps out onto the stairs leading down into the garden below, realizes she is in a cemetery. There is wailing coming from one section far in the distance, but she knows this is not where she is going. Instead, she turns toward a beautifully dressed plateau with sculpted bushes, carved granite, and three very distict monuments. These are covered and surrounded in an ocean of flowers, cards, and banners. And kneeling in the sea of memorials is a man.

She comes closer, sees his shoulders are shaking violently. He's holding his head in his hands, curled down on himself, hidden in this grotto, grief unfurled. She reads the inscription closest to him.

 **Park Yoochun**

Glancing at the other two, she reads **Kim Junsu** and to her surprise, _**Kim**_ **Jaejoong**.

The man on the ground cannot hold back a cry as he gulps for breath. She wonders how he is here alone when so many mourners have left their tokens of sorrow. Then she hears footsteps coming down stairs on the opposite side of the plot. A man, manicured to perfection much like the surroundings, steps onto the green, but only just.

"Come away, Changmin," he chides, hands in his pockets.

The man on the ground looks up, face swollen with tears and weeping. He is gaunt, she can see, under his sweater, and he wipes at his face with one sleeve. "I can't feel them here, Yunho," he pleads. "I can't even sense a part of them."

"They're long gone," the manicured man says, glancing out over the trees. "You can't expect--"

"Expect!" Changmin coughs with the force of the word. "Yunho! It's _them_. How could I not expect?" He finishes with a weak shrug. "Do they blame me so very much?" he weeps bitterly, reaching a hand out to almost touch Yoochun's headstone. He pulls it back before making contact, as though it would have burned him.

"You are responsible for their deaths," Yunho says succinctly, and with little pity. "They owe you nothing." He sighs when there is no response to this, looks up the stairs, then steps into the ocean of flowers toward Changmin. "Come away," he repeats, this time a little softer. He reaches out and puts a hand on Changmin's shoulder. "Please, Min. There's nothing here."

She watches Changmin struggle, then give in. Yunho helps him up, brushes him off, takes out a handkerchief, and wipes at Changmin's face. For an act so personal, there is something very detached in the movement; Yunho attends to Changmin as though straightening a bookcase. She finds herself wanting to call out in warning, but having no voice in this place. She can only watch as Yunho murmurs small things, motions toward the stairs, and guides Changmin up and away from the graves he anguished over. Yunho never looks back.

She feels the beat pounding through her feet before she sees the club. She's standing on a smokey second level, a heavy backbeat driving the dancefloor below. It takes her a moment to spot Changmin; he's climbing the stairs toward her. He's drunk, she suspects, by the way he stumbles and the fumes wafting her way as he passes her by. He approaches the door at the end of the walkway, and is met by two bodyguards who refuse him entry. One takes his arm and Changmin gets angry, yells things she cannot make out. He begins to kick at the door and scream, his voice piercing even the volume in the club. The other guard grabs his other arm, and together they start to drag him out.

The door to the private room opens, and Yunho steps out, calls to the security to let Changmin go. They drop his arms, and Changmin hits his knees hard. Yunho motions them away toward the bar, and leans down to whisper in Changmin's ear.

She cannot hear what it is, but Yunho straightens, and waits for Changmin to pull himself to his feet. Again she finds herself mute in trying to reach Changmin. His jaw is clenched, but he lowers his head, finds his legs and stands. Yunho claps him on the shoulder and holds out his arm toward the room. She follows them inside, dread rising.

The room is dim, but she can see it is not empty. Lying virtually naked on one of the couches is a boy adorned with only a fur boa. Yunho continues toward the private bar, but Changmin stops moving when he catches sight of the boy draped artfully across the upholstery. Now that she is closer, she sees why.

He is--angles and curves, beauty and slightness--Jaejoong. Changmin makes a startled noise, and the boy flips his hair, gaze coming up to rest on Changmin. She sees at the same time Changmin does; this boy's eyes are empty. Wrong, somehow, on this face.

Yunho steps behind the couch with a drink, reaches a hand to cradle the boy's face. "What's wrong, Changmin," he asks scornfully, "Don't like what you see?"

Changmin swallows, turns away. "You never liked him like this."

Yunho laughs, "But you did, didn't you."

"No!" Changmin snaps, turns to face Yunho. "No," he whispers again, trying not to look at the boy who is now stroking himself, cock fully erect.

Yunho sets his drink down, moves around the couch, reaches an hand to Changmin's chest. Changmin's eyes fall closed at the touch. Yunho moves his hand up to Changmin's neck, pulls him down to kiss. After a moment it blossoms into more and Changmin's hands come up to touch Yunho's arms. Then Yunho pulls back and whispers, "You think you could replace him, Changmin?"

Changmin jerks like he's been hit, hands falling.

"No," he cries, "Yunho. God, no." He reaches a tentative hand to Yunho's arm once again. "I miss them so goddamn much." Yunho's face is blank. Changmin tries again, "I miss you," he whispers.

Yunho turns away. "You took him away," he says quietly, "but you disapprove of my attempts to have what little memory of him I can find."

"This is not who he was," Changmin argues, glancing at the boy who hasn't moved from the couch. "This was never who Jae--"

Yunho moves so fast, she barely sees it. In a flash Changmin is on the ground, Yunho holding a hand at his throat. "You do not say that name," he hisses. "You will choke before you can utter that name in my presence."

Changmin doesn't fight the grip Yunho has on his throat. He seems to almost push into it. Then Yunho lets go, and Changmin remains still, breathing hard against the floor. Yunho rolls back on his heels and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs.

"You want to fuck, Min? That's fine. We'll fuck." Yunho slides out of his vest, tugs his shirt out of his pants, starts on the buttons. Changmin doesn't move, just closes his eyes. Yunho is out of his shirt when he leans over Changmin, straddling his waist, hands coming to rest on either side of Changmin's head as he bends low over his body, grinding very purposely groin on groin.

Changmin lets out a moan, and his hands come up to cover his eyes. She can see tears trickling down the side of his face, sees him swallow against the cries in his throat.

Yunho is still talking. "He liked it rough sometimes didn't he? Liked you to take him without warning, with no preparation." Yunho's got Changmin's belt undone, and his pants are unzipped.

"Yes," Changmin says without sound. "Yes."

Yunho is stripping Changmin's pants off his legs, shoes already tossed away. He ignores Changmin's cock, and pushes at his shirt instead, pulling it up and over Changmin's head. She sees Changmin shiver under Yunho, then opens his eyes at the snapping of Yunho's fingers directed at the boy on the couch. "Show me," Yunho commands, getting up off the floor.

Changmin stares at Yunho for a moment, then sits up. The boy on the couch turns over, his unnerving gaze now hidden. Changmin stands as Yunho takes off his own pants and underwear, and moves to stand behind Changmin. One hand snakes around Changmin's waist, palms his cock, while the other arm crosses his chest, holding Changmin against him.

"Imagine it's him," Yunho whispers, nudging Changmin forward. "Imagine he's flirted all day, imagine his tongue dipping into your mouth when he steals a kiss. Imagine the feel of him hard as he slides by you in the hall." Changmin reaches the edge of the couch and kneels between the boy's legs, spread ready for him. Yunho grips him harder, pumping. "Imagine he's fallen asleep just after a shower. One you had to watch him share with me." Changmin bucks into Yunho's grip, head falling back against Yunho's shoulder.

"You want him so badly, and he's there, body willing." Yunho lets go, and Changmin moans, bucks against the loss. "Take what you want, Changmin," Yunho murmurs, getting up.

Changmin moves like he's in a trance, eyes closing, hands exploring the skin, the muscle, the bones of the boy beneathe him. He slides a hand between thighs, fondles balls and cock, pulls his hand back and finds the opening he wants.

"Take him," Yunho encourages, running a hand through Changmin's hair.

Changmin does. With a thrust he enters the boy, grabbing hips to control the reaction. The boy cries out in pain or pleasure, and Changmin lets out his own violent moan. George fights against her vision, tries to pull herself out of the dream, but she cannot, just as she cannot speak.

Yunho leans over the couch to take a kiss from Changmin's mouth, but Changmin is focused now. He doesn't hold still for longer than a few seconds, before he is forcing himself in and out with long strokes. The boy has bitten his lip to muffle his cries, and has to brace himself on his arms to keep from being pounded into the couch face-first.

After a handful of sharp, hard pushes, Changmin orgasms, his grip leaving marks on the boy's thighs. Yunho laughs, and Changmin catches himself before falling on top of the boy. He pulls out in one quick move, and the boy moans. Changmin tumbles himself off the couch and into a nearby chair. Yunho tugs at the boy's hair, brings his head up, and kisses him.

"Now, me," he growls, and the boy squirms back on the couch enough for Yunho to sit down where his upper body was. Yunho leans back and the boy buries his head in Yunho's lap, swallowing his cock.

"I'd like to fuck you out in the open," Yunho is saying, staring at Changmin, one hand on the head bobbing up and down. "Maybe on the ground in front of their graves." Changmin is staring back, arms and legs curled haphazardly where he fell in the chair. "Bend you over any of them, fuck you until you can't stand up." Yunho's hand grips the boy's neck and he tilts his own head back as he comes. The boy lifts up and swallows, tongue lapping its way around the head of Yunho's cock as though he's done this before.

"Will you ever forgive me?" Changmin murmurs, eyes almost shut, watching the boy finish with Yunho.

"No," Yunho says, standing up and stretching, moving to pick up his glass, ice clinking. "But I will fuck you until we both forget."

In a moment, the sick, churning feeling in her stomach spins into vertigo. She is flying down a highway in a beautiful sports car, the night somewhere closer to dawn than dusk. Changmin is driving, tears flowing, devastation in his sobs. He hits the steering wheel, guns the engine, screams to the sky.

"Minnie-ah," a voice says from beside him, a hand sliding over the gear shift and onto his knee. "You're going to hurt your throat doing that." She turns with Changmin to see Yoochun lounging in the passenger seat.

"I think he's got the right idea," Jaejoong says from the backseat. He rolls down the window and yells with the wind, collapsing with laughter against Junsu beside him.

"I think you're both crazy," Junsu huffs, pushing buttons on his phone. "Dammit," he mutters.

"Hit 'reply all' again, did you?" Yoochun tosses over his shoulder. He and Jaejoong start to giggle. Junsu makes a face. Yoochun reaches for the radio and turns up the volume. "Oh-seriously, though, Min. This section here is perfect for your voice."

Music spirals up and out of the sound system, joining Jaejoong's throaty laughter, Yoochun's fingers tapping gently on Changmin's knee, and Junsu's humming. She can see Changmin is in shock, taking it all in.

"You died," he finally manages, almost choking on the words. "You died!" he says again full voiced. Yoochun's fingers fall still, Jaejoong's laughter fades, and Junsu puts down his phone. "My GOD but I've missed you so much," Changmin is babbling now. "I thought I killed you, and Yunho said you would never, and I thought you left us alone." New tears, those of joy are streaming down his face. "But was it a dream? Was I just drea--"

"CHANGMIN!" Jaejoong screams, and anything else is lost under the shriek of metal shredding, the thunder of collision, and the shattering of glass and the peaceful night.

There is no breeze blowing now, and she brushes at her eyes, sunglasses long-forgotten. She is standing on the edge of a once-darkened highway, the night keeping its place behind her. Before her, the air has come alive with flashing lights, urgent whispers, and the shadowplay of smoke and ashes. There is a fuel-fed fire raging in the distance. It is newly winter; the air is chill, and the wind has died.

She can't turn away, and she can't speak a word. There is a wailing from another emergency vehicle finding its way from far off, but she knows this will not matter. Instead, there lay before her three simple black bags, surrounded by nothing and no one. And kneeling somewhere beyond that emptiness is a man.

She comes closer, sees his shoulders are shaking violently. He's holding his head in his hands, curled down on himself, unable to hide from this horror, grief unfurled.

Suddenly the world shifts, the light tilts, and the air is once again warm and filled with smells. She is standing back in the cemetery watching Changmin weep. Watching Yunho descend the stairs; watching the fresh guilt claw its way into Changmin's soul. She watches Changmin rise with a little more fatigue and a little less grace. Watches Yunho coax him away, and then...

"Stop."

The word is so simple, so casual, but it vibrates the very fabric of this place. George feels the word leave her mouth, but knows it was not on her tongue. Changmin turns, eyes widening for a moment before...

"NO."

Time holds still. Yunho steps away from Changmin's frozen regard, crosses the green without a sound, eyes now on her. Sound, smell, motion, even the very air cease to be.

"Let him go." The words are Junsu's, but they resound in George's heart.

"No," Yunho repeats, frowning. "I will not." He waves a hand. "This is my world." The scenes shift, cycling through Changmin's loss, Changmin's mourning, Changmin's sorrow. Forward and back, he takes her through variation after variation, all leading to the same paradox of effect equivocating cause. He motions toward Changmin. "His grief and guilt have built this place. I control them as easily now as I speak."

"I give you this one chance," Junsu says, focusing on Changmin. "Let him go."

"I refuse."

"So be it." And with that Junsu opens his mouth and screams.

George woke screaming. Jaejoong was next to her in the bed, arm around her waist, whispering in her ear a language she couldn't make out, and Yoochun was nearly on top of her, holding her wrists, ducking punches, and trying to calm her down. When she came fully out of the dream and the screaming had died, she lept out of the bed, ran for the bathroom, and vomited.

Yoochun was the first through the door after her. He kept a hand on her back while she heaved, then wrapped the bedspread he'd carried in around her, helped her to the floor. Jaejoong knelt down beside her and took her hand.

"I saw him," she whispered, letting Yoochun rub circles over her back to soothe her shaking. "Changmin."

"Junsu's found him," Yoochun nodded, hope in his eyes.

George shivered at the memory. "He's not alone," she whispered. "A man named Yunho is controlling him. Holding him trapped there."

Jaejoong's head came up sharply. "That's not possible," he told her, voice fierce. "Yunho's the one who found you for us in the first place."


	7. Forever's Gonna Slow You Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Cry For You" by September

"Show me his face," George said, still reeling from all she'd seen. Jaejoong got up and left the bathroom, but returned a moment later with his cell phone. He pushed several buttons and paused with a look in his eyes George had not yet seen.

He held the screen out to her. "This is Jung Yunho."

"Yes," George nodded, looked away. "That was the face."

"But that is not the being who holds him," Jaejoong reiterated. "I'm absolutely certain."

George looked at Yoochun, who nodded, seeming to agree with Jaejoong. He stood up and offered her a hand. "Let us show you something."

George wasn't sure how much more of a show she could take, but she accepted the offered hand, and let them lead her back into the bedroom. To her surprise, Yoochun went to the window and threw back the curtains. He scanned the sky, then motioned her to come closer.

He pointed. "Do you know that constellation?" George leaned in close to him, turned her face to follow where he indicated.

"Sure," she said, recognizing it. "Cassiopeia."

"Yes," Yoochun smiled. "Five stars." He shared a private look with Jaejoong, who came to stand on her other side. "One for each of us."

George was confused. "There are five of you?"

"Yes," Jaejoong echoed Yoochun. "One star for each of us." He reached up from behind her and covered her eyes with his hands. George heard wind blow past her ear.

Jaejoong dropped his hands. "Now look."

George scanned the area of sky where she'd just identified the constellation, but she couldn't make out the five distinct points any longer. "Where did it go?" she asked, squinting at the night sky. Try as she might, she could only find three of the five stars.

"Until tonight, there were four," Yoochun indicated. "Now that Junsu has gone, there are only three."

Jaejoong motioned to himself, to Yoochun, then said, "And Yunho." He turned to make three similar motions out the window. "Yunho's star is the one on that end. Mine is in the center. Yoochun is next to me."

George could see the pattern now, and make out the missing lights. "Yunho is still here," she concluded, understanding at last what they were showing her.

"Yes," Jaejoong said, pulling the curtains closed again, hesitating for just a glance more up at the sky. "Like you having Junsu's appearance, someone is wearing his face."

"He was cruel," George said, sitting back down on the bed, rubbing her neck. "Indescribably cruel to Changmin."

"What did you see?" Yoochun asked softly, sitting down across from her. "Anything you remember could help us understand--"

"He thinks he killed you," she blurted. Jaejoong sat down next to her silently. They looked disturbed. "He dreams," she tried again, taking it slower, remembering. "Changmin dreams your deaths in a car accident, dreams he's at your graves. Dreams..." She took a breath, unsure how to say it. "He and Yunho..."

"Sleep together," Jaejoong supplied.

"Yes," she said. Then, "No. Not exactly." She can't help the expression she knows she's making. "They fuck. Sometimes just the two of them. Sometimes with a third party." She looked at Jaejoong, willed him to understand. Instead, Yoochun voiced it clearly.

"Changmin dreams he's fucking a surrogate for Jaejoong," Yoochun said quietly, "With Yunho."

"Yes," she nodded. They were all quiet for a moment. "Junsu spoke to Yun--to the being wearing Yunho's face." George paused, recalling the delight with which he had demonstrated his control over Changmin. "Junsu gave him a chance to let Changmin go. When he refused, Junsu screamed." She shrugged. "And I woke up."

Yoochun reached for a bottle and poured three glasses, passing one to her and Jaejoong before taking a sip of his own. "Tell us everything," Yoochun requested, "Please."

George downed the glass, and took a deep breathe. Then she told them every detail Junsu had asked her to witness for them. When she finished, Yoochun looked like thunder clouds glowering in a chair, and Jaejoong was pacing the room like a caged animal. No one said anything for a long time. George got off the bed, went to the bathroom, washed up and stared at Junsu's face in the mirror.

"You sing to stars. You use stars to keep track of one another." George ran her hands over Junsu's features. "Frog and Toad were probably your brothers."

"Yunho is not the man you saw," Jaejoong said from the doorway.

"I know," George answered, "I believe you."

"No," Jaejoong tried again. "I mean it's not only the stars and the fact that he found you that tell us that." He studied his hands. "Yunho is not cruel. And he loves Changmin." He looked up at her. "He was supposed to be protecting him when he was taken."

George turned to face Jaejoong. "Protecting him from what?"

Jaejoong blew at his fringe. "Rabid fans, death threats, corporate entertainment slavery. Typical forces of darkness." Jaejoong smiled at a memory. "Himself."

George stared at him. "Do I need to google, or are you going to tell me who you people are?"

Jaejoong actually considered the options. George rolled her eyes, and started past him. He threw out an arm, blocked the doorway and smiled. "Google," he told her. "We'll explain the rest."

George ducked under his arm, back into the bedroom. She could see Yoochun lying on the bed in the adjoining room. His eyes were closed, and she let him rest. Instead, George pulled Junsu's laptop from the desk and onto the bed with her. She turned it on, and frowned over the password login.

"Coconut," Jaejoong supplied, dropping into a chair and putting his feet on the bed. George typed it in, and the machine booted.

"I don't even want to know," she muttered, pulling up Google.

But she did know within thirty minutes. It was like falling into a story, but having the characters sitting in the room with you. Or, she reflected, sitting in one of the characters. Junsu's visage became more and more familiar as she looked at photo after photo, read fan accounts, watched performances, and discovered just how much of his life was made public. The same went for all five of them--she saw clearly now that there were five; they were superstars, idols, names bigger than any western celebrity by the numbers.

George read for several hours, then shut the computer off near dawn. She'd just finished reading all she could find on the lawsuit that separated them from one another. Compared to Changmin's tortures it seemed a small thing, but there was something malevolently familiar in the sense that it cut off two from three.

Jaejoong had long passed into unconsciousness, and was breathing steadily, so she pulled on a pair of sweats laying nearby and went in to see if Yoochun was awake.

Yoochun was lying on his side, back to the door. George could now see the very renown ink on his back, indeed a match to part of Jaejoong's. He shifted as she came closer, rolled onto his back, chest now bare--here too he had similar markings over his heart.

"And you're like me?" she whispered, convinced there was more to Yoochun's story than she knew.

"If you mean is he a reaper, then yes," Jaejoong whispered from behind her, wrapping a hand around her wrist and another around her waist. He gently pulled her back from the bed. "Let him sleep," he murmured in her ear, backing her toward the door. George let herself be pulled away.

Jaejoong closed the door between the rooms, leaving it cracked. George sat back down on the bed, grinned at him. "And this has nothing to do with getting me alone?"

He cocked his head, grinned back. "Are you really afraid to be alone with me, or is it you think Junsu would mind?"

George sat back against the headboard. "Not Junsu, I'm fairly certain. But perhaps Yoochun."

Jaejoong climbed in next to her, boots and all. "He has no reason to mind. And you didn't answer my question." He was posing, she could tell, head resting against his arm, hand in his hair.

George couldn't help but laugh. "You're really the most photographed person in the world?" She shook her head. "How can you even begin to deal with that?"

He fell back against the pillow, swiped at his hair. "I don't deal alone," he answered with honesty. "I have four others to share the light with."

"Dong Bang Shin Ki," she sounded out loud. "The Rising Gods of the East."

"George Lass," Jaejoong said. "You are very hard to seduce."

She looked at him for a long time, studied his face for things photographs and video could never capture. He was beautiful, undeniably, but more, he was pure in a way she couldn't describe. "Kim Jaejoong," she started, and stopped, something very bad stirring in her gut.

 _Kim J./October 30/TAIWAN_ , the post-it had read.

 _Oh. God._

She sat up and stared at him hard. "Wake Yoochun up now," she said, moving off the bed, and going toward the door for her carry-on.

"What's wrong?" Jaejoong looked very uncertain, vulnerable even.

George didn't have time to explain yet. Still, she couldn't leave Jaejoong looking like that. "Just, please. Wake him up. I think something may be very wrong." Jaejoong nodded, sliding off the bed and entering the other room. George unzipped her bag, scattered papers around until she found the envelope containing everything for this reap. Both post-its were still there.

She heard voices, Jaejoong's quiet, concerned waking and Yoochun's deeper, sleepy reply. After a moment, Yoochun came into the room, body still relaxed, but eyes sharp. Jaejoong's wide, worried eyes peered from behind him.

George stood up, and faced Yoochun.

"Who was my reap, Yoochun?" she asked him. Dark eyes focused on her, and she knew in an instant. Her gut twisted. _Holy. Shit._

Yoochun shifted his head and spoke over his shoulder. "Jaejoong, give us a moment?"

"No." Jaejoong crossed his arms. "What's going on, George?"

George looked at the post-its in her hand. "Junsu showed me first. I don't even think he meant to, but when I read the names on the headstones..." She shrugged, offering the first post-it out to Jaejoong.

"Please," Yoochun asked again, hand coming out to block Jaejoong from reading it. "Jaejoong, give us just a moment."

Jaejoong looked from George to Yoochun, then his hand came down to move Yoochun's away. Yoochun let his arm fall, lowered his chin and sighed. Jaejoong took the post-it gingerly, and read it, looked up at George. She saw the moment he understood.

Fear, anger, pain--all three exploded in his eyes. He took a step backward. Yoochun turned and reached for him, but Jaejoong swung at his arm, slapping it away.

"Who chose?!" he yelled, the muscles in his neck and arms trembling. "Which one of you made the decision for me?"

"Jaejoong," Yoochun whispered, soft longing in his voice. "We can't lose you."

"But I can lose Junsu?" Jaejoong raged, fighting tears. "I can lose you when you break at Junsu's loss? At Changmin's?"

"Yunho needs you more," Yoochun answered, tears already trailing down his cheeks. "If this doesn't work, he's going to need you more than ever. He couldn't make the decision, so we made it for him."

It was like a physical blow to Jaejoong. He curled down onto his heels, crossed his arms against the onslaught. "No," he whispered. " _No_. HE would have let me choose."

Yoochun crouched down, tried to touch Jaejoong. He was slapped away again. George could see this was one of the worst things for Yoochun to take, the refusal of physical contact. "Please, Jae," he tried. "Please."

Jaejoong looked up at George. "Take my soul," he told her, straightening. "If Yoochun won't do it, will you?" His eyes were like the stars she'd seen in the night sky. George felt tears in her own eyes, and understood why she'd been given this assignment.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'm so sorry," she said to Yoochun. "But yes."

Yoochun raised a hand to his mouth to cover his weeping, and Jaejoong nodded, then reached for Yoochun. "You god-damn bastard," he whispered, kneeling next to Yoochun, and wrapping his arms around him tightly. "What were you thinking?"

"The world needs you here," Yoochun told him. "Yunho--" he choked and buried his face in Jaejoong's chest.

"Yunho couldn't get rid of me for all the possible futures in all the universes," Jaejoong told Yoochun. To George it sounded like a promise. "And the world won't want me if I lost any one of you." Yoochun looked up at that, and Jaejoong kissed him hard, thumbs tracing tears, fingers threading through long hair. Yoochun melted into it, and George looked away. "And you're my best friend, you fool," she heard Jaejoong whisper. "You better believe I'm coming back to you."

Writing caught her eye, and George looked down at the blank post-it she still held. Only now, it wasn't blank.

 _Kim J./October 31/SEOUL_

"Uh, guys," she said, waving a hand in their direction before turning around. Jaejoong pulled back from Yoochun, ran a thumb over his lips, and smiled. Then he stood and came straight for George, wrapped one hand around her neck, and kissed her. It was unlike anything she'd ever experienced--wind and free-fall, silk and leather, tinges of steel and sunlight. Here too, she discovered, Junsu's physique found a well-worn path, and Jaejoong smiled into the kiss as she leaned into him.

"Thank you," Jaejoong whispered finally, letting them both breathe. George couldn't speak, so she just nodded, held out the once-blank post-it. Jaejoong read it, and sighed with resolve, held it out to Yoochun who was watching them, still with tears in his eyes. But to George it seemed that some of his sadness had lifted.

Yoochun nodded at the second post-it, found the first, discarded next to them on the floor, and stood up. He returned them both to George.

"I couldn't have done it," he told her. "They are--"

"Your family," George finished for him. She nodded, holding out her hand. "No one could."

Yoochun took it, squeezed, and pulled her into a hug. "I'll need you," he said to her softly. "I'll be alone here."

"No, you won't," a voice said from behind Yoochun. He turned, and standing there with his arms crossed, gentle smile on his face was Jung Yunho. Jaejoong was sliding his phone back into his pocket and grinning. Yunho tilted his head at her. "That's not to say we won't need you though."


	8. The Moon at Dawn

George was close enough to hear Yoochun's breath catch. Yunho uncrossed his arms and held them out; Yoochun was inside them in an instant. Whatever qualms George still had about Jung Yunho vanished at the fierceness of that embrace.

"I know," Yunho whispered at Yoochun's shaking shoulders. "I know." Yoochun pressed his face into Yunho's neck, and George watched Yunho's eyes fill with tears. "Chunnie-ah," he said softly. "I've missed you."

Yoochun's response was laughter coupled with a sob. He pulled away far enough to look Yunho in the eye. "It ends now?" he asked Yunho.

"It Ends Now," Yunho answered, voice rich with emotion and certainty no video could have conveyed. George could see the differences between him and Changmin's captor all the more clearly as she stood in his presence.

His presence. Like the bubbles in champagne or the sudden flood of moonlight on a dark night, the very air around Yunho seemed to spread and envelope everyone in the room. George felt herself lifting up onto her toes...

"Stay with us," a voice from far away said. George felt a hand brush along her arm, pulling her down, anchoring. There was a pressure on her collarbones, and she fell with a thud. Back into Junsu's body.

She was breathing low and shallow, but able to focus on the room once more. Yunho stepped back, lifting his hand from her chest, and Yoochun smiled down at her from where she had been caught by Jaejoong before hitting the floor.

"I apologize," Yunho said with a bow of his head. "When I shift space, there is a residual energy." He gave her a half smile. "I hoped Junsu's body would shield you from the worst of it."

"It took me almost four months to get used to it," Yoochun told her.

"I'm still not used to it," Jaejoong said with a note of real pleasure in his voice.

George blinked up at them, finally addressing Yunho. "Are you saying you can pull souls without touching?"

"Yes," Yunho nodded.

She lifted a hand to where he'd pressed his thumb and fingers below her neck. "And put them back at will?

Again, "Yes."

 _Fuck me._ "And reapers?" She had to ask.

"Are under my domain."

"You can control our souls as well?"

Yunho leaned down to offer her his hand. "Never against your will," he answered, waiting for her to accept his grasp.

George leveled her gaze at him. "What are you?" She already knew, but she needed to hear him say it.

"I walk between worlds," Yunho answered, hand still outstretched. His eyes crinkled a little about the edges. "I created the jar."

"You're a god," she raised her hand toward his. "Like Junsu."

"Junsu is my opposite," Yunho affirmed. "My brother and my counter-part."

Her fingers touched his. Nothing happened. Yunho smiled wider.

"You can trust me, Georgia Lass."

George took his hand. "How did they get Changmin?"

Something furtive and very dangerous crossed Yunho's face, but George knew it was no threat to her. He gripped her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. "The Earth Dragon wandered too close to the pit."

After everything else that night, George wondered that she could still be stunned. "Changmin's a _dragon_?"

"That's one word for him," Jaejoong said under his breath. Yoochun bit his lip, but his eyes were shining.

George shook her head, saw the whole picture at last. "Junsu and Yunho, you're both gods." She turned to Jaejoong. "What are you, Angel-boy? Time to fill in the rest."

Jaejoong pressed his lips together, pushed them out in a little round. A breeze blew through the room, caressed her cheek. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Don't you know yet?"

"Wind," she guessed. "Some kind of air-being." Jaejoong smiled at her, gave a single nod. She looked at Yoochun. "And you're like me." He gave her a teary smile. George realized this was probably very rare for them to be able to speak of their identities freely.

Or not. "Dong Bang Shin Ki," she murmured. The room got very still. Yoochun wiped his eyes, and Yunho reached for Jaejoong's hand.

"You need to come home," Yunho said, looking around at the three of them. George felt herself nod with the other two.

"Press conference, then airport," Jaejoong told him.

"I'll meet you when it's time," Yunho promised.

Yoochun rubbed a hand over Yunho's back, then leaned in for a quick hug. Yunho kissed him on the forehead. "You won't be alone, Yoochun," he said reassuringly. Yoochun nodded, sniffled and left the room.

Jaejoong was just looking at Yunho, and Yunho was looking back. George recognized the same look she'd seen when Jaejoong had showed her the picture on his phone. There was love here, undeniable. She took a step toward the other room, expecting she'd be intruding if she stayed. They surprised her and stepped apart, let go.

"Soon," Yunho whispered.

"Soon," Jaejoong echoed.

And in just that moment, Yunho was gone.

"Wait," George said suddenly. "Did you say 'press conference?'"


	9. Between the Bonfires

The morning flew by. Staff appeared within the hour bringing food. Clothing was brought in and more staff members began with hair and makeup. George found it less difficult than she thought to keep up Junsu's persona. No one seemed to notice when she didn't remember things, or when she had to look to Jaejoong or Yoochun for the details.

"What am I wearing?" she whispered to Jaejoong in the bathroom at one point. He was again sitting in front of a mirror, doing his own hair. George was fascinated that he wasn't bothering with a hairdryer, but could simply turn his head upside down and shake it dry. Wind being, indeed.

Jaejoong glanced up at her in the mirror. "This is nothing," he said, going back to his locks. "You actually look somewhat normal."

"For a strip club!" she retorted, fingering the odd jacket-shirt combination and glancing down at Junsu's chest. Which was highly visible given the deep V cut of the outfit.

Jaejoong smiled. "You're just mad you had to wear a thong."

George rolled her eyes. "What guy wears see-through white pants?"

"You and I, apparently," Jaejoong said, standing up and showing off his own pair. He shrugged. "Yoochun grabbed the black ones before I got to the rack." His eyes twinkled. "He's going to have to wear this shirt though," he said, holding up a sheer black bit of fabric. George held up her hand and Jaejoong gave her a high-five.

Yoochun stuck his head in the room. His eyes narrowed. "Okay, that's frightening enough when it's Junsu for real," he whispered. "What are you two up to?"

"Not a thing," George answered, taking the shirt from Jaejoong. She slapped it against Yoochun's bare chest. "Here's your shirt."

Yoochun grabbed it and held it up. "This is because of the pants, isn't it," he said. Jaejoong smiled and George made a face at him, walked out of the room. "You've seen his ass!" He called after her. "They look best on you!"

When all the dressing and preparation with management was done for the interviews, they had a few minutes alone in the room the hotel had set aside for the press conference.

"Remember," Jaejoong was saying, fussing with her hair again. "Junsu has two modes. Stoic and beaming."

"What is he a god of?" George asked suddenly. As the words left her mouth, the door opened and staff began ushering press personel into the room.

Yoochun glanced at Jaejoong, then stepped in close to her, mouth to her ear. "Oh my god Sun," he whispered.

George lifted an eyebrow, but kept silent. _Of course. He can command stars._ Jaejoong seemed to read her mind and winked at her as they were being seated on a couch together. He patted her knee, and the questions began.

The whole thing was more of a whirlwind experience. George answered the questions directed at Junsu with some help and some tagging along on the other's answers. She could tell there was a flow to the banter that usually involved one of them being the brunt of a comment, depending on topic. Yoochun was the drinking target; Jaejoong was the fashion and pet fallguy, and Junsu was teased a lot about money. Everything was going smoothly until someone asked Jaejoong about the past year.

George could feel the two men beside her stiffen. She glanced over and saw Jaejoong's head was lowered, while Yoochun was staring at the man who had asked the question.

"I'd like to temporarily leave that topic alone," Jaejoong answered.

"How about the tattoos on your back?" the man continued. "What do those stand for?"

There was a longer pause as Jaejoong smiled and looked between she and Yoochun. That smile made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. "Those are mostly words commemorating my debut with JYJ," he stated. "I wear my memories on my skin."

"And you have TVXQ on your back as well," the man pushed.

Yoochun cleared his throat. "We would prefer to leave that topic alone," he reiterated. His mask was on very well. He looked at the manager.

"That will have to be all, Ladies and Gentlemen," the manager declared. "Unfortunately, JYJ have a plane to catch, and a very tight schedule."

There was applause and the room began to clear. Jaejoong was up off the couch, and Yoochun stood as well, craning his neck somewhat to follow the man who had asked the final questions.

"We have to get out of here," Yoochun said, turning toward her. Jaejoong bent down to retrieve something from the floor. "Jae--" Yoochun started, but it was too late. Camera flash went off like strobe lights. Jaejoong had his back to the room, and he'd leaned over enough to reveal the tattoos on his lower back.

Jaejoong straightened, and George saw his jaw clench then unclench before the smile appeared again, and he turned around. The man who asked the questions was staring at the three of them with a satisfied look in his eyes.

"Ah yes," the manager said again. "JYJ must be going." He bowed. "Thank you again."

"Go." Jaejoong directed her toward another door on the opposite side of the room. George didn't need to be told twice. In a few minutes, they were back in the elevator on their way to the rooms.

"What just happened?" George asked as they stepped out onto their floor.

"That man wasn't press," Yoochun said. Jaejoong was cursing under his breath. "He was from our old company. SM Entertainment."

George thought she understood. "So he came to mess with your interviews?"

"No," Jaejoong said, pulling a keycard from his pocket and unlocking the door to his room. "He came to send us a message."

"And what's the message?" George asked, following Jaejoong into the room.

"To leave Shim Changmin alone," a voice said from inside the room. Standing casually in front of the large window was the reporter. And he was holding a gun.

Yoochun kicked the door closed, and the world went into the same slow motion as before. Jaejoong spun around, grabbing George as the shots started and carrying her with him to the floor. It was Yoochun who went for the shooter. From the ground, George heard four shots fired before she heard the gun knocked away into a lamp that fell and shattered. She and Jaejoong looked up from where they were, and saw Yoochun blocking punches, giving his own. One sent the man flying into a nearby chair and he toppled over with it. Yoochun went after him, and they ended up on the floor grappling for the gun lying just a few feet away.

Yoochun landed a solid kick to the man's stomach and he doubled over. Reaching behind his back, Yoochun pulled a gun of his own from under his shirt, and without hesitation fired two shots. Then the room was silent.

"You could have warned me," Jaejoong said angrily, getting up and hurrying over to where Yoochun was lying.

"What did you think I wanted the black pants for?" Yoochun asked, rolling over and letting his head fall back against the carpet. "Can't hide a piece under white trousers."

"Damn it, Yoochun," Jaejoong muttered. George got up and came over to where Jaejoong was leaning over Yoochun on the floor. There was blood. _A lot_ of blood. And Jaejoong was holding his hands over what seemed to be the worst of the wounds.

"It's not like I can die from it," Yoochun whispered, meeting George's eyes. She recognized where he was at, and it was only partly true. Each "fatal" incident she'd experienced since becoming a reaper was a little death. If you lost too much blood, you passed out until your body regenerated enough to keep your brain alive again. If you lost a limb, it reattached, but the pain was still pain.

"Where are you hit?" She asked, kneeling down. So much for the white pants.

"Chest and side," Yoochun murmured, eyes closing. He passed out moments later.

George glanced at the reporter's body. There was a distinct lack of blood. "What the hell?" she asked, looking closer.

"He's not human," Jaejoong told her. "He's not even really 'he' at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The real him is still downstairs, probably already out of the hotel." He motioned at the body, grabbed at a shirt lying nearby and pressed it against Yoochun's chest. "It's a kind of physical projection. A dummy."

George grabbed a pillow and shoved it against the wound in Yoochun's side. "What are we going to do with the...body?" she asked.

Before Jaejoong could answer, there was a kind of sucking sound beside her. She turned toward the reporter's projection and watched his form disappear, last visible image diminishing into some kind of tiny vaccuum. And then there was nothing.

"That." Jaejoong replied. "They sort of take care of themselves."

"And if he'd been real?" she asked. "What would you have done with the body then?"

Jaejoong gave her a half-smile. "Called Yunho."

They sat silently over Yoochun's body, until the reaper healing closed the wounds enough to stop the bleeding. Jaejoong shifted and cradled Yoochun's head in his lap.

George thought of something. "Why hasn't anyone come looking for where shots were fired?"

Jaejoong motioned to the room. "I've got us in a sound bubble. No one heard what just happened."

"And the blood and broken lamp?"

Jaejoong caressed Yoochun's cheek. "You know how you pick up mannerisms and vocabulary, stuff like that from people you spend a lot of time with?" George nodded. Much as she hated it, sometimes she found herself cussing like Mason, or chewing someone out like Roxy. She even, on rare occassions, sounded like Daisy.

Jaejoong continued. "You can also pick up power."

George thought about that. "You can..." _What had Yunho called it?_ "Shift space."

"Not like he can, not even close. But yes. In small things, I can shift space." Jaejoong closed his eyes. A ripple went through the room, and again like last night, everything was just as it had been before the fight. No broken lamp, no bullet holes, no blood.

Yoochun stirred. "I knew he wasn't real," he croaked, attempting an apology to Jaejoong. "I knew he would try for Junsu's body." He stretched, and George could empathize with the wince.

"You still should have warned me," Jaejoong said, standing up and reaching down for both her and Yoochun. He pulled them to their feet.

"Could you tell, George?" Yoochun asked her. "It's not like gravelings, exactly, but there's something missing. No soul residue."

George thought about it. She could feel what he meant with gravelings, the taint, the lack of soul any longer. With the projection... "If I focused on it," she told him. "But I didn't know what I was looking at or what I was feeling."

Yoochun touched her arm, smiled encouragingly. "You will. Especially now that you know it exists."

"We good here?" Jaejoong asked. Yoochun nodded and stooped to pick up his gun, tucked it back into his pants. George's ears popped, and she heard the ambient noise return.

"How did you even get that here?" George asked.

"Junsu," both Jaejoong and Yoochun answered at the same time.

"He can bend space as well," Jaejoong told her.

"Of course he can," George said, sitting on Jaejoong's bed. There was a knock at the door.

Jaejoong made a face. "Time to get home," he said, and went to answer the door. "Staff," he called, pulling it open and greeting the clothing coordinator. "Also, lunch!"

Yoochun grinned at that, and pulled his keycard out of his pocket. "Shall we change?"

After another flurry of food and staff and packing, followed by another walk through corridors of fans saying farewell, they were finally in a vehicle and headed for the airport.

Once they were through security and waiting at the gate, everything was fairly normal. A shy fan or two would pass by and snap a picture now and again, but other than that, they sat mostly undisturbed.

Airports were one of those places it was always possible to find gravelings. George wasn't entirely sure why, but she thought it might have something to do with the level of stress airports could generate. They rarely caused accidents at airports or on planes, but there always seemed to be plenty hanging around. Today was no different.

A party of three gravelings was hanging around the check-in counter for the gate, but they didn't seem to be actively interfering in anything. Just watching.

"That is not right," George said at last. She glanced at Yoochun to see him watching them as well.

"They don't seem to notice us or actually be doing anything," Yoochun agreed.

"Maybe they're waiting for a plane," Jaejoong suggested. He looked up from where he was slouched in the chair beside her. "Maybe they're waiting for our plane."

"Like hell," George said, standing up. She stopped, and turned to look at Yoochun. "We haven't seen a single graveling since last night, and suddenly there are three just hanging out here?"

Jaejoong lifted his sunglasses and peered at the gravelings who still hadn't looked their way. He blew out a breath, and a breeze floated across the waiting area for the gate, teasing the nearest graveling's hair. This one turned around and stared at the three of them. Then it's eyes widened and it grabbed the other two, and made to pull them away from the gate.

Yoochun stood up as well. "They don't know who we are."

Jaejoong snorted. "And they're about to get on a plane with us? That's some bad luck."

The other two gravelings were trailing behind the one, glancing over their shoulders. The first graveling pulled them across the concourse walkway and behind a pillar.

"Or it's not luck at all," George said, frowning.

"Another message?" Yoochun asked.

"Another trap," George whispered, turning. "Look at the plane." Like insects swarmming, gravelings were covering almost every inch of the plane's exterior, and more still were jumping down from the concourse roof or climbing up from the ground.

"Cathay Pacific Flight CX420 is now boarding first class at gate 7A," the call came over the PA system. "Gate 7A, first class only at this time."

"That's us," Yoochun said, grabbing his bag.

"I have an idea," George told them, picking up Junsu's overnight bag. Her own luggage was checked with JYJ and staff baggage. "Let's just get on that plane before we have an audience."

Jaejoong slung his own bag over his shoulder. "What's the plan?" he asked as they made their way to the gate door. Yoochun was ushered through just ahead of her, and George held up a finger as she showed Junsu's boarding pass. Jaejoong was passed through right after, and together they made their way down the ramp toward the plane.

"Can you shift just a portion of the plane's wall?" George asked Jaejoong quietly.

He nodded. "That shouldn't be a problem."

"Then get ready to do it while Yoochun and I get ready to reach through."

They were greeted at the plane, and George was relieved to see there was no one else in the cabin but two flight attendants who were eagerly helping them stow their bags.

"You distract them," she whispered to Jaejoong. "Yoochun and I will be in coach just long enough to gather the power. When you hear Yoochun sing, shift the plane." Before Jaejoong could argue, George pulled Yoochun into coach and pulled the curtain between the two sections.

"Kiss me," she said, stepping into him. He hesitated, and she gripped his arm. "I saw you do this at the concert, Yoochun. I know it will work. Just kiss me, and think of Junsu. Then just like you all did that night, let it ride your voice and your touch."

Yoochun nodded. "Okay," he said in English, smiled, and kissed her. George felt the matching power between them grow, swirl around the familiarity between Yoochun and Junsu's bodies, and she knew the moment he was about to let go. His head fell back, and he sang a single pure note, so full of power and resonance, at first it seemed to George that the sound alone had rippled back the roof of the aircraft. She threw up her hands just as Yoochun did, and the effect was like fire across dry grass. Gravelings were consummed not by a touch, but in a wave of the ability she and Yoochun shared. Then Yoochun fell silent, and the roof rippled back just as it was supposed to be.

George climbed over seats to look out the window. There was nothing to see but the last wisps of ash falling to the ground. She turned and smiled at Yoochun, scooting back to the aisle. "Sorry to inconvenience you," she said, touching his lips.

He grinned and pulled her to him for another kiss. This one was for her. "Thank you, George," he whispered, again in English.

She couldn't help it. She blushed. Yoochun laughed, and she was saved having to say anything else by a flight attendant who flung open the curtain and startled herself at the sight of them. George jumped away from Yoochun, and he put his hands behind his back.

"Mr. Park, Mr. Kim," the flight attendant said, looking anywhere but at them. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Jack," Jaejoong called from the first class cabin. "They both want Jack."

George fought her laugh, and Yoochun nodded. "Yes, please," he said, offering George the chance to walk back to their cabin ahead of him. She found her seat on the aisle, across from Jaejoong. She waited until Yoochun took the window seat next to her, then sat down between them.

"Very nice," Jaejoong said, raising his glass in a toast as they settled in.

Their drinks arrived, and Yoochun downed his in two gulps. He touched her arm. "Wake me if you need."

"What if I need?" Jaejoong asked hopefully.

Yoochun pulled his headphones on, lowered his chair back, and ignored Jaejoong entirely.

"Sigh. I'm so forsaken," Jaejoong said loud enough for Yoochun to hear under his music.

"See you at home, Jae," Yoochun said, and turned his face toward the window.

"Maybe," Jaejoong whispered, meeting George's eyes.

She frowned at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't do 'goodbye,'" Jaejoong answered, swirling the liquid in his glass. He leaned across the aisle. "I want you to take my soul before Yunho arrives. Before Yoochun realizes."

"Not until we're in Seoul," George told him. "Not until I know your body will be safe."

Jaejoong thought about that. "Agreed." He fidgeted with the armrest. "I don't want them to know when you're doing it. I just need to go."

George nodded. "Okay," she agreed. "We'll do it your way. As long as I know we're in a safe place."

"Our apartment," he said. "Only one place safer, and there's no going back to it anymore."

"Home," George mused.

"Home," Jaejoong echoed, falling silent.

Other passengers began to board the plane, and Jaejoong pulled away from the aisle. George put her seat back, closed her eyes and after a few minutes listening to Yoochun's steady breathing, fell asleep herself.

Someone was singing. It sounded like a lullabye, but the voice singing it was so sad, so full of sorrow, George wanted to cry at the sound.

The she realized it was coming from her. No, that wasn't right. Slowly, hazily, George remembered.

It was coming from Junsu.

The room was dark, if it even was a room at all. George could see nothing beyond the edges of a small glow, light from a tiny sun that hung in the air before her tentatively pushing back the darkness. She was sitting on a solid surface, and lying on the floor next to her was Shim Changmin. His body wasn't bound, but he wasn't conscious. He seemed to George to be more than asleep, but she could still feel his soul inside him somewhere, lost and quiet.

The lullabye ended, and the light faded as Junsu swallowed hard against tears, reached out his hand to touch Changmin's fingers as the darkness crept over them. George felt his heart, her heart speed up, felt the awfulness of the unending night that threatened from every side.

"Changminnie-ah," Junsu whispered on a parched throat, and a tendril of the tiny star's light returned. "Maknae," he murmured. "I'm still here."

Junsu coughed for a moment, dark descending over them again, then he started to sing once more. This too was a soft, sad song about love lost and the hope of love returned. George watched as the star's light grew brighter, even with Junsu's voice crippled and fainting; listened to him sing more with his heart and soul than with his voice any longer. She wondered suddenly how time worked in this place, and how long Junsu had been keeping vigil over Changmin like this.

"Still here, boy?" a voice boomed from the blackness. George felt the anger flood Junsu's every fiber. The tiny sun sputtered, and Junsu swallowed, kept singing. The light steadied.

"You'll never reach him, you know," the voice continued. "Not as long as I hold him." There was a laugh. "All these years, and he hasn't heard a word."

Junsu's answer was to sing louder. The light flared a little.

"Go back to the sky, back to where you belong," the voice cajoled. "Look at how your light is diminished here. Go back to the world that needs you."

Junsu gripped Changmin's hand in his, stopped singing. The light faded, but he spoke into the darkness. "And yet," he said, voice hoarse, "It still shines in this place."

"For now," the voice said without concern. "And when it serves you no longer, I will have two souls to feed on."

"Never," Junsu growled, shifting closer to Changmin. "I will reach him. I have." His voice burst forth against the crawling blackness, and the tiny star came to life, glowed with his music.

"As you will," the voice mocked, laughter fading away moments later.

Junsu continued to sing to a man who never stirred.

George woke weeping. She snapped the seat upright, and caught her face in her hands to cover the tears. A hand landed on her shoulder, and she turned to see Yoochun lifting his sunglasses off his face, pulling his headphones onto his neck.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

But George couldn't answer. Junsu's voice--the sorrow and the longing--were echoing in her head, in her soul, and her heart was breaking with the pain of it.

Jaejoong slid out of his seat and into the aisle. "George," he whispered, reaching for her hand. "George, what did you see?"

"Pain," she choked out, tears overwhelming again. "Oh, oh god." She looked at Yoochun. "How long has he been down there?"

Yoochun leaned in and took her face in both hands. "If you can," he whispered. "Hold onto it until we reach Seoul."

But George shook her head at him, the melody churning inside her. "I can't," she whispered. "Oh god." She started to weep again.

Jaejoong took her by the hand he held, pulled her from the seat. "Come," he murmured, leading her into the first class lavatory. He put the seat down on the toilet, and George crumpled down onto it, grateful for the small privacy.

Jaejoong let her cry. He found her a towel to clutch until she was ready to dry her eyes, passed her tissues to blow her nose, and ran his fingers through Junsu's hair, soothing.

"George," Jaejoong said at last, when her sobs had subsided, and she was shaking with the after-weeping sighs, "What did you _hear_?"

George didn't know how to sing, but everything in her was telling her she needed to sing to Jaejoong the melody that Junsu had let her hear. She closed her eyes and swallowed, then sang, "Fly away, fly away, love."

Jaejoong's eyes filled with tears. "Oh," he said, covering his mouth. George passed him a tissue. He leaned down and hugged her. "As soon as we land," he murmured. "I have to go."

"What does it mean?" George asked him, sniffling.

"Insa," Jaejoong answered. "It's a song we sang together." He clarified, "All five of us." Jaejoong took a breath and began to sing:

 _Even that time when the wind stays  
Its not enough for me.  
I smile one more time and give my final greeting:  
I love you._

 _I am tired now and love hurts but  
Even if that time is just a memory  
I have to give my final greeting.  
I love you, I love you._

 _Fly away Fly away Love  
Fly away Fly away Love  
Fly away Fly away Love_

 _In the afterlife I will greet my love again_

George's shoulders were shaking again with the sorrow of it. "What is he trying to tell you?" she asked.

"He's saying good-bye," Jaejoong whispered. "He's trying to release Changmin's soul. They'd rather die than be held there for eternity."

"He's telling you not to come," George said, understanding. "He's telling YOU good-bye."

"Yes." Jaejoong ran a hand over his face. "This was our song, in a way."

There was a gentle tapping on the door. Jaejoong pulled it open and a worried Yoochun looked in. "Are you alright, George?" he asked quietly, reaching a hand in to her.

"No," she whispered honestly, "I'm really not." She took his hand, but gave Jaejoong a quick hug as she slid by him. "Soon," she whispered against his cheek, echoing everything Yunho had meant in one word. Jaejoong nodded, but did not reply.

Jaejoong stayed in the lavatory, and Yoochun led the way back to their seats. When they were again seated, he reached for her hand. "He's not good, is he?" he asked.

George met his concerned gaze. She shook her head, and made herself watch the tears well up in Yoochun's eyes. "You couldn't have held it anymore than me," she whispered.

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

She squeezed his hand. "Jaejoong is going to help him."

Yoochun nodded again, but George could tell that bothered him more that he would show.

"It's hard being the human," she said, interpreting his silence.

Yoochun rubbed at his chest. "If you can even call us that any longer."

"Maybe there's no difference between any of us at all," she said. "Maybe it's all a matter of time and choices."

"What do you mean?" Yoochun asked.

"Did you ever ask Junsu how he came to be? Or Yunho?"

Yoochun shook his head. "No."

George smiled. "Maybe you should." Yoochun looked at her for a long time.

"Maybe I should," he repeated.

The lavatory door opened and Jaejoong stepped out, tears dried, sunglasses back in place. He sat back down across from George, gave her and Yoochun a tight smile. At that moment, the captain of the aircraft came on the loudspeaker and announced their approach to Incheon.

"Almost home," Yoochun whispered. He held her hand under a jacket the rest of the flight.


	10. Samhain

"Welcome to Korea," the flight attendant said as they taxied toward the gate. She took their drink glasses, and opened the storage bins to retrieve their luggage.

"This is a whole new game," Yoochun was saying quietly. "We have fans in other countries, but in Korea, we _are_ gods."

Jaejoong nodded. "It's going to be tight, loud and blinding," he explained. "About ten times worse than you've seen yet."

"Just follow Jaejoong or me," Yoochun told her. "Staff and security will make sure you're not accosted. Same rules as before apply."

"Don't touch or be touched unless absolutely necessary," George recited.

"And try to look good," Jaejoong added, swiping at his hair.

"That's one of your rules?" George asked, taking Junsu's bag when the flight attendant handed it to her.

"That's usually his only rule," Yoochun said, shaking his head.

They were escorted from the plane out into the terminal. Airport security joined them at the gate, and they started through the airport. They were recognized every step of the way. George thought she had a handle on what they had prepared her for...until they passed through security.

"My god," she breathed, the wave of sound and flash hitting them as they entered the public area of the terminal. Jaejoong led them right toward it. "You're bigger than the Beatles," she murmured.

The next five minutes were spent inching their way toward the front doors and into the waiting SUV. When the doors closed, and the airport was behind them, George watched Jaejoong take Yoochun's hand. He moved his fingers in a rhythmic pattern, squeezed gently several times, and let go. Jaejoong sat back and watched the city come into view. Yoochun turned his head and watched Jaejoong.

Within half an hour they were at the apartment in Seoul. Their driver helped them carry in their bags, and bid them good evening. Jaejoong pointed out the rooms to George, and Yoochun grabbed several bags and carried them into Junsu's room.

Jaejoong watched him go, snatched a pillow off a chair and drew George away into the kitchen. He lay down on the floor. "Let me go now," he whispered, tucking the pillow under his head. "Please."

George answered by reaching out and smoothing Jaejoong's hair hanging over his forehead. Her thumb brushed his skin, and Jaejoong's eyes fell closed. Her arm tingled from the touch, and she stepped back to watch Jaejoong's winged soul rise free from his body.

"Thank you," he whispered, and turned toward a light unlike any George had every seen. Instead of rippling and growing blues and greens, this light was dim, flickering, and enclosed about by darkness. George realized she was seeing Junsu's song from a great distance.

"The darkest place is heaven when I can be with you," Jaejoong murmured.

"Jae, your phone is--" Yoochun started, coming into the kitchen. Jaejoong smiled at him, turned and sped toward the tiny light. Then there was nothing but the electric buzz of kitchen appliances.

Yoochun sat down on the floor next to Jaejoong's body. He curled his legs up, and held his knees. To George, he looked infinitely young. They didn't speak for a long time. Then George felt the wave of Yunho's presence wash over her, and they both looked up to see Yunho standing over Jaejoong's body.

George held her internal grip on Junsu's body, and Yunho touched her lightly on the head as he came closer, to assure she wouldn't loose her connection again. She still felt the lightheadedness, and decided the floor was a better place to be.

Yunho too, sat down. He slid close to Yoochun, putting his arm around him, and drawing him in. "I left a wedding," Yunho said at last. "They know Jae's coming. The kid wearing Changmin's face was terrified."

Yoochun laughed but it was hollow. George looked up at that. "Someone's been pretending to be Changmin like I've been Junsu?"

Yunho nodded. "For months," he told her. He motioned to the livingroom. "I set him free."

Yoochun leaned his forehead against Yunho's temple, closed his eyes, and took a breath. Then he got up and left the kitchen.

"They haven't seen one another in almost a year," Yunho told her softly.

"How did this happen to the five of you?" George asked him. "I read about your company. How did you even get into that situation?"

"We still work for humankind," Yunho answered. "Sometimes change requires an aggressive hand, and at other times, it takes patience and man's law. In the end, we hope for the freedom of many more than ourselves."

"This is about a legal precident?"

"It's about slavery," Yunho corrected. "About poverty and oppression."

"But," George glanced at Jaejoong's still body. "This could mean your lives!"

Yunho smiled. "And that's too much to give for another's freedom?"

"Not like that." George tried to explain the sorrow she'd felt through Junsu's song for Jaejoong. "Not just life, but...your souls." She swallowed and closed her eyes against the rise of tears. "YOUR souls," she whispered, feeling at that moment just like Yoochun seemed to at his humanity.

She felt a hand cup her chin and tilt her face up. She lifted her gaze to meet the kindest eyes she'd ever seen. "Two things, Georgia Lass," Yunho told her in a voice to match those eyes. "Our souls are worth no more than that of any other being. And," his thumb brushed her cheek, "There is no part of this universe that would allow the entrapment of Junsu or Changmin or Jaejoong's soul without massive recourse."

George smiled at him. "Is that what I am? Massive recourse?"

Yunho chuckled. Along with Junsu's laughter, it was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world to George.

"Oh yeah," he said with a grin. "Would you like to watch your work unfold?"

"Without dreaming?"

He nodded.

"Oh yeah," she said, remembering the beauty that was Jaejoong with sword and wings unfurled.

Yunho seemed to read her thoughts. "Sometimes, I can't take my eyes off him either." George blushed until she realized Yunho was blushing too. He laughed and she joined him. "Come on," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder before standing up. "Help me carry him in with Changmin."

Yunho picked up Jaejoong's shoulders, and George got his legs. Together they carried Jaejoong's body into the livingroom. Yunho angled him to lie next to Changmin, head by feet. Yoochun was sitting with Changmin's head in his lap, singing softly. Yunho sat down and mirrored him with Jaejoong's head in his own lap. He reached for George's hand and pulled her down beside him.

"Give me your hand, Yoochun," Yunho said quietly.

Yoochun looked uncertain, but reached across Changmin and Jaejoong's bodies, hand outstretched.

"You've always trusted me," Yunho told Yoochun before he touched him. They shared a moment of memory and silence. Then Yunho gripped Yoochun's palm in his, laced their fingers and leaned forward. "It's time to trust yourself."

George watched Yoochun's soul react to Yunho's touch. He arched his whole body, head falling back, mouth gasping as his soul pushed and waivered against his reaper flesh. George's own soul trembled to watch. When Yoochun began to fall, body fighting for air, soul pulled between freedom and safety, George looked to Yunho, willed him to stop. But Yunho saw no one but Yoochun.

Yoochun fought for the union of his body and soul, gasps becoming cries, cries becoming moans, moans becoming notes. Notes becoming song. Song brought with it light that came from Yoochun alone--light from the resonance of his soul vibrating in his body.

The light grew, and still, Yoochun held on. His other hand shot out to catch himself from falling, and his head came down, eyes now focused on Yunho. George could still see his soul, but there was no longer a separation between his flesh and the song of his soul. He was alight from the inside out. George couldn't stop looking at him.

Yoochun's voice faltered, and Yunho slowly untwined their hands, and let go. "My friend," he whispered with awe in his voice.

Tears began to fall down Yoochun's cheeks, but the light inside him held steady. Outside, George heard thunder rumble in the distance.

"George," Yunho said quietly, still watching Yoochun, "You've witnessed the becoming of a god."

She opened her mouth, but there was nothing to say. Yoochun closed his eyes, and it seemed to her that beyond the tears, he was listening for something. Lightening struck nearby, lit the room so that George couldn't tell where Yoochun's light and the lightening were separated. Thunder crackled only a breath later, and its rumble shook the earth around them.

"Yes," Yunho said over the sound. "It Ends Now."

And then they were thrown into darkness. George reached out and found Yunho still beside her, found Jaejoong's body still next to him. Light flared like an exhale of breath, coming from a tiny moon hanging above them all, pulsing slightly with Yunho's breathing. She could see Yoochun bending over Changmin's body, sheltering it in the dark. Slowly her eyes adjusted, and she recognized the endless black around them.

"How are we here?" she whispered to Yunho.

"We only watch," he answered. "We're still in Seoul." He turned and pointed behind her. "There."

George turned to see...nothing. At first her eyes told her there was nothing in the darkness. But then she heard it; a rough intake of breath, a ragged sound, a faint whisper of a note and there was a spark of light hanging in the air nearby. And lying under the light was Changmin, unmoving as ever, and next to him, curled close, was Junsu.

"He's still singing," she said, throat clenching as the spark faded. She swallowed. "Where is Jaejoong?"

The answer came from Yoochun. His voice was deep and rumbling, but with a note of surity George had never heard before. "Look up." She did.

There was a star falling through the darkness. At least, that's what George thought at first. The star fell further, came closer, grew in size and proportion. She began to see angles and realized the star was not falling straight down, but shifting this way and that on its descent. After a minute, she could see it wasn't a star at all, but a being. With wings.

Jaejoong fell further, came closer, and she saw now that what she thought was shifting in his path were attacks and counter-attacks with his sword. She heard a shout and light flared as Jaejoong fought his way into the depths of the pit. He was more graceful in the air than he was on the ground, George thought, watching Jaejoong wield the sword that was every bit a part of him.

"Beautiful," she heard Yunho murmur beside her.

With another shout and a gust of wind that swirled the darkness around them, Jaejoong landed. He saw Junsu and Changmin, and ran to them, dropping his sword as he fell to his knees beside Junsu.

"Junsu!" Jaejoong cradled Junsu in his arms, patting his back, and trying to revive him. He glanced at Changmin and reached out to feel his chest. Changmin stirred.

"Changmin!" Jaejoong lay Junsu back down, and shifted his attention to Changmin, trying again to get a reaction.

"You are too late, Youngwoong," the voice came out of the darkness. Jaejoong reached for his sword and stood over Junsu and Changmin.

"No," he growled. "I lay claim. They are _mine_ , and I'm taking them back with me."

"Ah," said the voice. "But do they claim you back?"

"Yes," Jaejoong spit, anger in his voice.

"What proof do you have?"

"It's all over my body and soul," Jaejoong retorted.

"But that is _your_ proof," the voice continued, even and vicious. "What of theirs?"

Jaejoong hesitated. It was a mistake.

"Ah." The voice laughed this time. George saw a finger of darkness reach out and wrap itself around Jaejoong's leg. "Their souls are but mute as to your claiming."

Jaejoong fell to one knee over Junsu. "Junsu-yah!" Jaejoong slapped his face, and George felt it. She looked at Yunho, hand on her face, then back to Jaejoong. While Jaejoong tried shaking Junsu and even pinching him, George's mind was reeling from the sensations and what it could mean.

"Ohmygod," she said when Jaejoong struck Junsu again, and it once more stung her face.

"What is it, George?" Yunho asked, looking at her now.

"I can feel that." She motioned to where Jaejoong was half-kneeling over Junsu.

"Yunho." This from Yoochun.

"I know," Yunho told him. He reached out a hand to her. "I'll pull you before anything can happen to you."

" _Yunho_." Yoochun's voice carried even more urgency.

"What's happening?" George asked. Yoochun was up and moving toward Junsu's soul. So, she saw, was the darkness.

Yunho held her hand tighter and whispered, "Junsu is losing himself."


	11. St. George and the Dragon (All Saint's Day)

Jaejoong got up, then moved to straddle Changmin's chest. "Come on, Changmin! It's me! It's Jaejoong!" The Darkness rumbled.

Yoochun froze. Jaejoong looked around and then down at Changmin before he raised his head and shouted, "JAEJOONG!!"

The rumbling grew louder.

"Yoochun!" George shouted over the rumbling. Yoochun turned and George held out an arm to draw him back. "I have another idea!" The rumbling was growing louder with every repeated shout from Jaejoong, and Yoochun ran back to her.

"Like on the plane?" he asked, her meaning dawning in his eyes. She nodded, and he leaned down to speak in Yunho's ear.

"I need to see the apartment," he called over the churning of the darkness. "I need to see the rest of the livingroom."

Yunho snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were between an apartment in Seoul on one side and the pit of hell on the other. Yoochun ran to a table in the corner, grabbed a pack of cigarettes and took one out. He lit it in one flick from a lighter on the table, and reached for a bottle sitting nearby. He thumbed the cap off the bottle and took a swig, set the bottle down and turned back to her. The cigarette between his lips, he shrugged out of his jacket, and came in close.

"Incense and a libation offering," he answered the question in George's eyes. "A very old idea."

George understood. "Junsu doesn't smoke," she whispered.

Yoochun took a long drag and held it, shook his head and blew smoke out of his nose. "Nope." He exhaled the rest of the smoke from between his lips and ground out the cigarette on his jeans. "Think you can stand it for a few minutes?"

George nodded. "Absolutely."

Yoochun closed the distance between them, and with one last glance at Junsu lying unmoving in the pit, said, "Then let's get him back." He wrapped one hand around her neck, and the other found her shoulder blades. George closed her eyes, and let go.

Kissing Yoochun had been sensual, sweet even, up to now. But...this. Yoochun was holding onto her--to Junsu's body--with an intensity that weakened her knees. He devoured her mouth, tongue slipping in and tasting. George returned the kiss, threading her hands in his hair, and a low growl vibrated through both of them. Yoochun's hands roamed lower, and he cupped her ass, pulling her tightly against him. George moaned, and Yoochun began to rock against her, causing concentration-shattering sensations that spread from her groin to every part of her body. Somewhere on the periphery she felt fingers wrap around her ankle...

George was falling. Her knees buckled and she collapsed backward. Strong hands caught her and carried her to the ground. There was a voice murmuring in her ear.

"You're alright. Don't fight it. Remember your own body, and let it remember you." Yunho's fingers were gently stroking the base of her neck. George did what he told her for a few seconds, then tried to pull herself upright. Yunho had his hands on her shoulders to stop her from getting up, but she saw what she was looking for--Yoochun was still kissing Junsu.

And Junsu was kissing him back.

"One down. Two to go," Yunho whispered, giving her shoulder a squeeze before moving back to Jaejoong's side.

Jaejoong had stopped yelling, George realized. The rumbling continued, but Jaejoong sat still, straddling Changmin, sword in hand. He was studying Changmin's face.

"What's he doing?" she wondered out loud.

"I think," Junsu answered, falling to his knees beside her and dragging Yoochun down beside him, "He's thinking."

"He'd better not start the apocalypse again," Yoochun murmured, wrapping one arm around Junsu, and laying the other on George's back. She met his eyes, and saw the gratitude in them.

"You're welcome," she mouthed to him, and Yoochun gave her a small smile. He wrapped both arms around Junsu, pulled him closer, and turned back to the scene in the pit.

Jaejoong stood up. He looked around at the swirling, rumbling blackness, and ran his fingers over the length of his sword, rolling it deftly through his hands. With one more look down at Changmin's face, he closed his eyes, and gripped the hilt in both hands, blade pointed down. Jaejoong took a breath, wings unfurling wide. "CHANGMIN!" he shouted, raised his sword above his head, and plunged it into Changmin's heart.

There was fire. It blinded George, and when she closed her eyes, the light from it still burned into her. The roar that accompanied the fire was nearly as deafening as the light was blinding, and she covered her ears. After a moment, the light diminished and she was able to open her eyes. Changmin's soul was gone, and standing before them was a dragon.

He was big, George couldn't help but think. Black scales tinged with greens and blues, wiry muscles roiling beneathe his skin, Changmin huffed deep breaths of grey smoke, tail swinging threateningly from one side to the other, dark eyes full of fury. With claws sharp like black diamond, he scratched at the sword in his chest, anger rising. There was another deafening bellow when claw met blade, and he drew himself to full height in pain.

"JAEJOOOOONG!"

The word vibrated in the darkness, and the rumbling stopped. A flash of white from out of the engulfing blackness shot up before the dragon. Jaejoong hovered in the air facing Changmin.

"You called?" Jaejoong asked. George could tell he was grinning from the tone of his voice.

"Get this _thing_ out of me," Changmin hissed, "Or you'll do more than wear one of my claws around your neck."

"Gladly," Jaejoong answered. He took hold of the sword, and with great delicacy, slid it free from Changmin's chest. Changmin roared again, but it sounded more annoyed than furious to George. He blew smoke at Jaejoong, who let it swirl around him before a breeze cleared the air once more. Jaejoong reached a hand out to affectionately rub the dragon's neck. "You ready to get out of here?"

"NO." The voice came out of the blackness and then, "He is mine," the coalescing form of a familiar man said. "I have claimed him."

Jaejoong dropped to the ground, started toward the Yunho-clone and swung his sword in a menacing circle. "Believe me," he said through gritted teeth, "You don't claim Changmin unless he's already claimed you."

The Yunho look-alike held up his hand. "You will be still," he ordered Jaejoong. Nothing happened, and Jaejoong kept moving toward him.

"Jaejoong," another voice said softly, and now Jaejoong froze. The dragon was gone, and Changmin was standing in his human form, watching the being with Yunho's face. "Jaejoong," Changmin said again, voice growing stronger as he came forward.

"No!" Yunho's look-alike shrieked. "No! Not that name!" His face began to twist and waver.

"Show yourself," Jaejoong growled. Changmin came to stand behind Jaejoong, and wrapped his hand over Jaejoong's on the sword.

"Kim Jaejoong," Changmin said, full-voiced and sure, curling his free arm beneath Jaejoong's wings and around his waist. Jaejoong's sword caught fire.

The likeness of Yunho melted away. What George saw next was an enormous graveling whose image expanded with a shriek, before the ash swirled and collapsed into the form of another man. This time, she did not recognize him. But Jaejoong did.

"Lee," he snarled.

"You arrogant, selfish ingrates," Lee snapped, folding his hands in front of him, and glaring at Jaejoong. "I gave you everything. Made you all that you are. Built an empire around you." He lifted his lip disapprovingly. "But you couldn't even show respect for your elders. Couldn't be satisfied with your due."

"Yunho," Yoochun said quietly. "They're coming for us." Thunder rumbled outside the apartment. The ground began to shake slightly.

"Take Junsu," Yunho told him. "I will stay here with George." She watched Yoochun help Junsu to his feet, and with a tight smile at her, they went outside.

"I am so tired of this." Changmin said flatly. "When I stayed, but wouldn't cower, they brought me here. They have no claim on my soul, Jae. Let's finish it."

Jaejoong turned his head in the darkness, looked directly at Yunho. "Your Realm, Your Lordship."

"The End is Sanctioned," Yunho spoke, and it echoed through George's soul.

Jaejoong took a step forward with Changmin, and together they swung.

It was a soul-ending blow. Ash mixed with the blackness around them, borne away on gusts of air, swallowed by darkness. Changmin's legs gave out, and he clung to Jaejoong's shoulder.

"Jae," Changmin whispered, exhaustion overtaking him.

Jaejoong turned, refurled his wings, and caught Changmin before he could fall. "Min," he answered, pulling Changmin to him, and resheathing his now lightless sword.

"Come home," Yunho said into the silence. Both Jaejoong and Changmin looked up.

Jaejoong steadied Changmin on his feet, then stepped back, turned and spread his wings. He looked over his shoulder. "Come on Minnie-ah," he said, mouth quirked, patting his shoulder. "I won't drop you, I promise."

Changmin laughed, and it turned into a cough. "I hate you, Kim Jaejoong," he said fondly and wrapped his arms around Jaejoong's neck.

"I love you, too," Jaejoong whispered, and leapt into the air, carrying Changmin out of the pit.

Somewhere nearby, a clock chimed midnight.

"Your Realm?" George asked Yunho, once the darkness faded, and the apartment appeared around them once more.

"The Death of the Soul," Yunho answered. "I am master over physical death, but I also hold the authority to smite the fundamental nature of a being. To end their soul."

"He was a graveling," George said.

"Yes," Yunho agreed. "He was. A very old, very nasty graveling."

"Have I always had your permission to destroy gravelings?" She'd never thought about it as anything more than an ability.

Yunho smiled. "You would not be possessed of the power to do so if you did not already have my permission. Jaejoong asking me for permission was his way of knowing for sure I would have dealt the blow with him had I been at his side."

Lightening struck so close then, the windows rattled. It was deafening. Yunho grinned. "He's coming into his power."

George jerked her head toward the door. "Yoochun is doing that?"

"He's a storm god," Yunho said reverently. "When he sheds tears, the heavens weep with him." The lightening struck again and again.

"He's a pissed-off storm god," George murmured.

"Indeed," Yunho agreed, eyes bright.

George went to a window and looked out. Yoochun was standing with his legs apart, arms raised to the sky. Junsu was wrapped around him at his back, head turned and resting against Yoochun's neck.

"He's grounding him," Yunho told her before she could ask. The flashes of lightening and crackles of thunder were occurring at the same moment now, and George pressed her hands over her ears and watched. A dark cloud very low to the ground was coming closer and closer. The lightening illuminated it enough that she could see what looked like creatures made of dust hurtling toward them. It took her a moment to see that they were gravelings, much like Lee had been before he took human form again, large and furious.

Just as they were closing in on Yoochun and Junsu, the rain came. It was a whirlwind of water, drops coming hard and near-sideways, flickers of electricity punctuated by the occassional peal of thunder. The ground shook, and so did the apartment. And then it was over. The gravelings were gone, and the sky, while still swirling with clouds, was settling back toward a stormless night.

The quiet was nearly as unsettling as the storm had been. The door opened too loudly, and Yoochun and Junsu stumbled inside, giddy smiles on their faces. George rubbed her eyes and swallowed, letting her pulse slow. She turned to see Junsu's eyes fall closed as his head lolled back against Yoochun's shoulder.

"Not yet, Junsu," Yunho said softly, reaching a hand to keep him upright. Junsu sighed, but let Yoochun help him to stay standing. Yunho rose and ruffled his hair, and Junsu attempted a face, but quickly closed his eyes again and leaned against Yoochun once more.

"Incoming," Junsu murmured, and Yoochun laughed.

"I can feel them," he said with wonder in his voice.

So could George. It was a metaphysical version of a falling meteor heading right for her. With serious deja-vu, she braced herself for an impact, but at the last moment, Jaejoong seemed to slow, and they landed easily on the livingroom floor.

Changmin slid down Jaejoong's back, and fell to his knees in front of his body. Junsu moved to help him, and Changmin murmured something George couldn't hear.

"Roll," Junsu suggested, and Changmin lay on his side next to his body. Junsu reached down and gently touched Changmin's chest. Changmin's soul fell backward into his body and he started to breathe again. He coughed and Junsu knelt down, held a hand over Changmin's heart. "It's going to take a day or two for that to heal," he said thoughtfully.

Changmin reached up and put his hand over Junsu's. "I could hear you the whole time," he said softly.

"Who's going to do me?" Jaejoong asked.

Yoochun crossed his arms. Junsu lay down on the floor next to Changmin, and turned his back on Jaejoong. Yunho sat down on the sofa.

"George is," Yunho said, reaching for Yoochun.

"I--what?" George looked up at Yunho, certain she'd heard wrong.

"You're going to put Jaejoong's soul back where you found it," Yunho told her, pulling Yoochun down onto the sofa with him. Yoochun smiled at her and curled up next to Yunho.

"I don't do 'putting back,'" George said. "I'm a _Reaper_. I take souls."

There were snickers all around the room. Even Yunho smiled.

"Georgia Lass," Yunho said with affection. "Have you learned nothing in the past 24 hours?"

"But--" _But what, Peanut?_ She heard from somewhere inside her. _Haven't you learned yet that the one constant in life is change?_ George met Yoochun's eyes--the eyes of a newly-become god. "You're like me," she remembered.

Yoochun's smiled widened. "I'm like you," he said with a nod.

"You know, George," Daisy had said to her once, "You have your very own saint."

 _No, Daisy,_ George thought, moving to stand in front of Jaejoong, _Today, I AM a fucking saint._ She grinned, and Jaejoong's eyes widened as her hand shot out and she shoved him backward, soul falling back into place.

Jaejoong grinned back at her from the floor and stretched.

 _Miracle. Fucking. Three._


	12. We Are All Made of Stars (All Soul's Day)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title take from Moby's song by the same name.

"Pleeeease, Roxy?" Mason was begging. "Just let me come with? You won't even know I'm there."

"The only way I won't know you're there," Roxy told him over her coffee, "Is if you fucking _aren't there_."

Mason collapsed on the table, head in arms. "I never get to go anywhere fun," he complained.

"Georgia," Daisy said, fingering the post-it she'd just received and frowning. "You're sure about the address on this one?"

"I'm sure," George answered, putting her planner away. Goddammit, she missed Rube when she had to field complaints.

Daisy continued to frown at the post-it. "It's just that _this_ address," Daisy laid the post-it on the table and pointed, "Is almost the lower east side." Daisy whispered the last two words like they were scandalous.

"Get Roxy to drive you," George suggested, looking around for Kiffany. She'd woken up incredibly hungry that morning after arriving home from Korea the night before. She wanted pancakes.

Mason moaned. Roxy leaned over to see the time on Daisy's post-it. "It's still daylight that time, babydoll. You'll be fine."

"I don't want to be _fine_ ," Daisy insisted, "I want to be at least two miles north of there."

"There's a sale?" Roxy asked. "Well, why didn't you say so?" She flipped her wrist and hand down at Daisy, immitating a southern debutant. "We'll get mani's and pedi's, pop down for your reap, and be back in time for the doorbuster at Bloomie's."

"Really?" Daisy asked.

"No," Roxy told her, scowling. "If you and I are going shopping, it's not on a day either of us has to work. Way more stress than I alot myself anymore."

"Are there shoes?" Mason wanted to know. "I like shoes."

Daisy sighed dramatically and folded her hands in her lap.

"Rox," George said, when there was still no sign of their waitress, "Just drive her down. It's not like you don't have the heads up on the whole murder thing." Roxy had recently transfered to homicide, and found she could schedule her days with ease now.

"What about you?" Roxy asked. "You're not even dressed for work. Why can't you take her?"

"Yeah," Mason attempted to add, pointing a finger.

George shook her head at him, turned to Roxy. "I just got back about six hours ago. Give me a fuckin' break, okay?" She fished into her coat pocket, found her keys. "Here," she said, handed them across the table to Daisy. "Don't forget where you parked it like last time."

"You're a goddess, Georgia," Daisy said, glow returned.

George pursed her lips, but said nothing. The past two days felt like a long dream, and she needed at least one more day to adjust back to life as she knew it.

"Yes, Georgie," Mason said, clasping his hands together, "A goddess."

"Not a fucking chance in hell," George told him. And she meant that. Mason dropped his head back onto the table, and jostled everyone's drinks.

Kiffany arrived just then and frowned at Mason. "What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"He didn't get invited to a birthday party," Roxy told her sweetly.

Kiffany nodded. "That's okay, baby. You can come to my birthday party."

Mason sat up, "Yeah? When is your birthday?"

Kiffany smiled. "July 24th," she said, and motioned at their table with her pen. "You're all invited."

Mason groaned again, dropped his head backward against the seat. Roxy glared at him, then said to Kiffany, "That's really nice of you, Kiffany. We'll all be there." She kicked Mason under the table, and he squeeked.

Kiffany shook her head at him and leaned close to George, pen to order pad. "I see why he might not be on someone's guest list."

"Blueberry pancakes," George told her. "And you have _no_ idea."

Kiffany had nodded, and was in the middle of taking Roxy's order when a shudder went through the restaurant. Roxy reached for her gun, Daisy looked around, and even Mason sat up straight.

"What the hell was that?" Daisy asked, eyes worried.

George knew, and she turned toward the door. Jung Yunho, looking amazing in black jeans and a black leather coat pulled open the door to Der Waffle Haus, and stepped inside.

A plate fell with a crash, and the restaurant fell silent. People stopped eating, stopped talking--even the cooks stopped moving around the kitchen. Kiffany's pad fell out of her hands, and she whispered, "My god."

"OH MY GOD!" Mason crowed, jumping up out of the booth and running toward the door. "It's you! It's really you!" He ran at Yunho with arms outstretched, and Yunho sidestepped quickly, catching one of Mason's arms, twisting it behind his back and slamming Mason up against the door.

The noise in the restaurant returned to normal. George got up and hurried over to Yunho. "He's usually pretty harmless," she told him, glancing at Mason.

"Did you see that, George?" Mason gushed. "That was so cool!" Yunho let him go, and Mason fell down, still grinning.

"Georgia," Yunho said with a short bow.

George smiled and reached out to hug him. "Yunho," she greeted him, "What are you doing here?"

Yunho glanced at Mason, and then motioned toward their table. "I came for the pancakes," he told her.

"Fucking bad liar," George said, but led him back to the booth.

"George!" Mason whispered loudly, following behind her. "Don't you know who this is? You can't call the Korean Michael Jackson a fucking liar!"

"The what?" Roxy asked dubiously, but she had reholstered her gun.

"Well, _hello_ ," Daisy purred, patting the bench next to her.

"Guys!" George almost yelled. "Can we not?"

Yunho laid a hand on George's shoulder. "It's alright," he told her. He turned to Kiffany, who was still there trying not to stare. "I'll have whatever George is having," he said with a beautiful smile, "Kiffany."

"Anything you want, sir," Kiffany answered, giving him a quick bow and hurrying off to the kitchen.

Yunho shrugged out of his coat and slid into the booth next to Daisy. "Jung Yunho," he said, offering her a hand.

Daisy gave him the back of her hand, and he took it, kissed it. "Daisy. Daisy Adair," she whispered.

"And you are...?" Yunho looked across the table at Roxy.

"Not buyin' the hype if you know what I mean," Roxy grumbled, arms crossed.

Yunho laughed. "Glad to hear it," he told her, holding out his hand in invitation. "Always nice to meet another dancer."

Roxy looked at George, then slowly reached out to shake Yunho's hand. "I'm Roxy," she said, still a little suspicious.

"Yunho," he answered, squeezing her fingers before letting go.

"Nice to meet you," Roxy told him. George thought she might actually mean it.

"Me next!" Mason said, sliding into the booth with Yunho. He held out his hand. "Mason," he said, "And you're U-know Yunho!" he continued without pausing.

Yunho took Mason's hand. "Hi, Mason," he said. "You can just call me Yunho, eh?" Mason was staring at his hand. Yunho motioned toward the door. "Sorry about earlier." Yunho let go, and Mason held the hand Yunho had shaken by the wrist.

"I'm never going to wash again," Mason murmured.

Roxy slid out of the booth. "And how is that different from now?" She motioned to Kiffany that her order was to go. "Duty calls," she said to the table in general. She leaned in as she passed George. "And you and I are having a con-ver-sa-tion about picking up men when I see you again," she whispered.

"But I didn't--" George started.

"Uhd. Talk to the hand," Roxy said, and walked away.

George sat back down in the booth. "Well," Daisy said in her strange I-know-a-secret-voice, "I am sure there are a thousand things the two of you need to discuss." She jingled George's car keys. "Goddess," she whispered again, shooing Mason out of the booth. Yunho stood up to let her get by, and she did a little preening to show off her curves for his benefit. Daisy blew George a kiss and started for the door. "Mason!" she called, and Mason came tilting after her.

"Did you see?" Mason was saying on their way out. "My thigh touched his thigh!"

George shook her head. Sometimes her family could be utterly embarrassing. She winced at Yunho. "Sorry about that."

"The first time I met Jaejoong's sisters," Yunho said to her, licking his lips, "I was so nervous I accidently insulted three of them, called two others by the wrong names, and all this while my fly was open."

George raised an eyebrow. "You. Were nervous."

"He has eight sisters."

"You're a god."

"I am also a man in love with their baby brother."

"Jaejoong makes so much more sense now," George quipped. Yunho actually giggled. "You seem happy," she told him.

"I am," he agreed. "With much thanks to you."

George nodded. Their goodbyes had been quiet and quick. Junsu and Changmin had long passed into unconsciousness, and George had been loathe to make any of the other three drive her to the airport. She caught a taxi in the rain, found a flight home, and passed out upon take-off. Yunho had offered to shift her home, but she'd said no. She wanted the time and the space to rest and to think. And to mourn, she realized, when she was honest with herself.

The life she knew was altered once again. Years as a reaper, and just when she thought she had a handle on things, the universe up and took it away. She had a taste of something unbelievably beautiful--then was sent back to Der Waffle Haus, forever changed and empty handed.

"What happens now?" she asked, fiddling with her napkin.

"What do you want to happen?" Yunho asked.

"Don't do that," George frowned.

Yunho sat back and watched her. Waited. George squirmed a little in the booth and sighed.

"You can't just ask me that question," she started. Kiffany picked that moment to arrive with their food.

"Blueberry pancakes," she said with a smile, bringing Yunho coffee and refilling George's cup. She nodded at Yunho before she left them to it. "On the house."

Yunho raised his cup. "Thank you, Kiffany," he said, and winked at her. No comment of Rube's had ever made Kiffany smile like she was at Yunho. She nodded and walked away glowing.

"You really are the Boss," George said, sipping her coffee.

"Yes," he said, though it really wasn't a question. "I am." George nodded and picked up her fork. Yunho reached across the table and held her wrist. "And as the Boss, I'm asking you, Georgia Lass. What do you want to happen?"

George stared at him. "Lifetimes," she whispered, hand coming to rest on the table. Yunho rubbed a thumb where he held her wrist and let her go. She swallowed against the tears she hadn't allowed herself on the plane or in her bed once home. "I miss my mom," she said when she could speak again. It was such a plain fact of her life, such a staple of everyday, it sounded strange to say outloud, to acknowledge it.

Yunho nodded, and the understanding in his eyes was so full, George had to look away.

"My sister," she started, but that led down the same path. She looked up at him. "Jaejoong said something when he found out Yoochun and Junsu had chosen to keep him from going after Changmin."

"I imagine he did," Yunho said softly.

George shook her head. "After that," she said with a smile. She thought for a moment, then said in Korean, "Yunho couldn't get rid of me for all the possible futures in all the universes."

"That sounds like Jaejoong," Yunho nodded. Again, he waited.

"I want to know how he knows that," she whispered.

"I can't give you the kind of hope that Jaejoong has," Yunho told her.

"But you can tell me how it's possible."

"Georgia," he whispered. "I've been trying to show you for years."

The tears came then, angry, confused. "Why didn't I get to go on? Why am I still here watching--" her voice caught, and she put her fork down, wiped at her face. She met his eyes and asked the question that resounded in every beat of her broken, dead heart. "What did I do wrong?"

Yunho looked down. George watched his mouth twitch, watched him bite his lip. When he took a breath and looked up at her again, his eyes were full of tears, but he was smiling. "Yoochun asked me that very thing nine years ago."

"And," George asked, "What did you tell him?"

"That he needed me." George turned to see Yoochun standing next to the booth. He motioned. "Can I sit?"

George moved over, and Yoochun slid in beside her. "Hey," she said, rubbing her nose, wiping her eyes.

"Hey," he said back, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss on her temple. She still couldn't help the blush.

"Are you here to ask me what I want, too?" She busied herself with her napkin again.

"Nope," Yoochun answered, looking at Yunho. "I'm here for the coffee."

"Bunch of damn awful liars," George muttered.

Yunho handed his cup across the table to Yoochun. "He's mostly telling the truth," Yunho informed her. "It's almost midnight in Korea."

"Whatever," George said. She looked at Yoochun sipping the coffee, then back at Yunho. "Why do you need _me_?

"Why have you stayed here?" Yunho asked her. "You could have gone into the light if you chose."

"Maybe I'm just a coward," George offered.

"I know that's not it," Junsu said, sliding into the booth next to Yunho and bumping him over. He grinned at her, blinding and beautiful.

"Hi," George greeted him, unable to keep from smiling back. "You're better?"

"Yeah," Junsu said. He reached across and put his hand over hers. "Thank you, George. What you did was..."

 _Crazy? Insane? Ridiculously sexy? Even kinda fun?_

"Brave," Yoochun provided.

"Brave," Junsu agreed.

"As compared to going into the pit of hell?" George couldn't help but say. "Not really."

"It took me a long time to get used to fans, press, the--"

"Forces of darkness," George suggested.

Junsu scowled. "You told me you did what you do to keep worse things from happening to people."

"I--well, yeah."

Junsu leaned in. "You and I are not all that different."

"Junsu-yah," Jaejoong said, leaning in over Yoochun's shoulder, "Believe me. You're totally different." He reached over and petted her hair. "She's a natural blonde."

George caught his hand in her hair, pulled it away from her head. "Hello, Jaejoong."

Jaejoong smiled. "Hi, George." He half-sat on Yoochun's lap. "So, are you going to take the job or move onto your new life?"

George looked around at them all. "The job? New life?"

"Jae," Yunho said, "We haven't gotten that far yet."

"She's me ten years ago," Yoochun told Jaejoong.

"Oh," Jaejoong said, biting his lip. Then, "That explains why she's mad at Junsu."

Junsu looked startled. "She is?"

"It does?" George asked.

They looked at each other, she and Junsu. "It does," Junsu said softly.

George frowned, "I'm not mad at you," she told him.

"But you are angry," Yunho pointed out.

"Where's Changmin?" George asked them, not sure she wanted to talk about it.

"He's waiting until he's invited," Yoochun murmured.

"He wants to talk to you on his own," Jaejoong shrugged.

George grumbled, "Can't imagine why."

"Because your heart is selfless," a new voice spoke up. Changmin, tall and whole, pulled a chair up to the booth. He and Yunho shared a look, and Changmin sat down and turned a steady gaze on George. "He needs you because you fight for what should happen, even if it can't or doesn't. He needs you because you have the ability to _choose_." The other four were quiet, focused on Changmin. "He needs you because he can't do any of this alone."

"What do you want me to do?" George asked. She looked between Changmin and Yunho. Yunho nodded to Yoochun.

Yoochun set the coffee cup down. "Think of it as an offer for promotion."

George raised an eyebrow at him. "You? You're upper management?"

"I was," Yoochun responded. He smiled. "There happens to be an opening."

"Fuck," George whispered.

"Or, you could decide you're ready for another life," Junsu told her. "That's more my area."

She looked at Junsu sharply. "YOU? You held me back?"

"I told you," Jaejoong murmured.

Junsu nodded. "But you chose to stay." He cut her off before she could say anything else. "No matter what Rube told you."

George just stared at him for a moment, remembered a night on a dark street when Betty had seen the perfect future and followed her reap into the light. Then she said, "You remind me of her."

Junsu smiled, eyes twinkling. "You'll see her again one day."

"So," Jaejoong said, all business, "That brings us back to my question."

"What if I want to just stay where I'm at?" George asked, and regetted it as soon as she did.

Yunho looked at his watch. "Daisy and Mason have an appointment in less than an hour. Roxy has a birthday party to go to." He smiled. "It will turn out to be hers as well."

George stared at him, fought the urge to jump up and run out the door. Fought the tears, fought the hurt and anger and pain at once again losing the life she'd known without warning.

"You could have told me!" George shouted at him. "You could have given me a chance to say goodbye! You could have--"

"George," Yoochun whispered, putting his arm around her, taking her hand and uncurling the fist she was making. "George," he said again, lips finding her ear. "This is the choice we make every moment of every day." She closed her eyes tight, and he held on. "You have to believe," he said very softly. "This is never the end." And then he was gone.

George swallowed and opened her eyes to see not Yunho sitting across from her, but Changmin sliding into his empty seat. Yoochun, Jaejoong and Junsu were nowhere to be seen.

"Fucking bastards!" George growled. Changmin said nothing, but nodded and started to eat Yunho's pancakes.

"And why are you still here?" she asked him. "You going to disappear on me too when I need to understand?"

Changmin thought about it. "What do you need to understand?" he asked.

"Fuck!" George tossed at him. "Fucking everything!

"Like...?"

"Like what's keeping me from going after my crew and stopping them from..." She trailed off. _Stopping them from moving on_ , she'd almost said.

"If you want to be there when it happens, no one's going to stop you," Changmin said between bites. "But you can't change what they're going to choose either way."

"Maybe they won't," George muttered. Changmin stopped eating and gave her a look.

"How long have you known them?" he asked gently. "How long have you watched them suffer and grow and fall and try again? Would you begrudge them their futures because you're afraid of yours?"

It made her quiet. "I hate the helplessness," George said at last. "I hate that I have no control over what happens to me."

Changmin downed a glass of water sitting on the table. George wasn't even sure whose it had been. He licked his lips and George caught a glimpse of teeth. "No one truly has control over the changes that come," he told her, "But you're being given a choice. You have control over what happens next." He smiled at her. "Fight for what you want. And if you have other ideas, make them listen."

"Oh yes," George grumbled. "So easy to do when they can just up and disappear on you."

Changmin grinned. "So find a way," he suggested. "They haven't always been gods. Yunho was just a man when I first met him."

That got her attention. "YOU are older than Yunho?"

Changmin laughed. "How old are any of us?" George knew he was talking about the soul.

She sighed. "How long do I have to make up my mind?"

He sat back and folded his hands on his lap. "You've got me all day."

"Great," George sighed, "A day to pick a future." She picked up her fork, still feeling overwhelmed.

"You know," Changmin said, meeting her eyes, "There is no wrong choice."

George thought about that as she started in on her pancakes. Either way, she'd have to change, to grow and move forward. She wondered how many lifetimes she'd spent getting to this place. How many times she'd had to choose before. She finished her food, and Changmin let her eat in silence. When she was done she spent a moment looking around, remembering.

"I'm never coming back here, am I?" she asked Changmin. He got up and held out her coat for her.

"That too will be your choice," he told her as they headed for the door.

It was a bright day outside, sun shining hard to lift the chill. They fell into an easy gait together, even with how much taller he was than her.

"What would you choose?" George asked him after a couple of blocks.

"I choose it every day," he answered her. "I stay with Yunho until there is a need for me elsewhere."

"But you love Jaejoong," she mused.

He smiled, and she could hear it in his voice. "I love them all," he told her.

"But in the pit--" she started and stopped, suddenly unsure of his reaction to her knowledge of what had happened to him.

"His name set me free," Changmin finished.

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Jaejoong holds a part of my soul," he explained with a smile. "It's a dragon thing."

"Oh," she said. And they walked a little further without talking. "So this job," she said at last, feeling how clearly he was waiting on her for any conversation. "What exactly would it entail?"

"The first thing you need to understand," he began, looking up at the sky, "It that we are all made of stars..."

 

THE END


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